Moody Slavic Man 2: Bright in an Azure Sky
by Elanor Gamgee
Summary: Viktor Krum returns home to Bulgaria the summer after GoF, determined to forget Hermione Granger.
1. On the Far Horizon

Author's Note: Viktor Krum and the Harry Potter universe are the creation of J.K. Rowling. I don't own a thing.  
  
Thank you to Zsenya and Jedi Boadicea, my faithful betareaders!  
  
Moody Slavic Man 2: Bright in an Azure Sky by Elanor Gamgee  
  
Chapter 1: On the Far Horizon  
  
Viktor urged his broomstick higher into the sky and closed his eyes as it leveled out, letting the late afternoon sunlight warm his face. It was a relief to be back in Bulgaria, back in these familiar mountains where he could fly for hours without being seen by anyone. It had been a week since he'd left Hogwarts, but he still savored this time each day, when he could be completely alone with the sky.  
  
It was different here, different from the spacious Quidditch pitch and wild forest around Hogwarts. Beautiful though those places had been, these mountains would always be first in his heart. They were his home.  
  
He opened his eyes and blinked against the light. He had reached the peak of the mountain-it was time to turn around, lest he be spotted by one of the Muggles from the small village on the other side. He was safe as long as he stayed on the north face of the mountain, and it was rare that he ventured this far up. But today he had felt the need to see the valley spread out before him, to feel the warm southern wind against his face while the sun shone on him, unobstructed by the trees.  
  
Viktor hovered by the mountain's peak, peering down toward the Muggle village. The roofs were so close together that it was difficult to see the narrow lanes running between the houses, but he could just make out small figures moving to and fro among the buildings. There was an open area toward the end of the village--the market, he remembered, from the few times he had accompanied his father to the village on various errands. He had been too young to realize the purpose of those errands back then, but now he knew that his father had been gathering information about the movements of the Death Eaters for the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic--casually trying to determine how much the Muggles knew or had figured out, and whether any memories needed to be modified. Did those people down there have any idea of the danger they faced each day, just by being what they were?  
  
Unlikely. Viktor turned his broom toward home, absentmindedly executing a Morrison Double Flip. Which way was better: to know the danger and realize the precariousness of one's own position, or to remain blissfully ignorant?  
  
"I wanted to tell you...that I do not think you should come to Bulgaria this summer...it is too dangerous, after all that has happened. Especially for you." She'd known it was true; he'd seen the knowledge of it in her eyes before she had looked away.  
  
Which way was better? He wasn't sure. But surely either was better than knowing the danger and choosing to ignore it, as his mother had done. On the night of his return from Hogwarts, he had finally told his parents the entirety of what had happened the night of the third task-all of it, even the part that still made him flush with shame. His father had accepted the story silently, face drawn. It was almost as if he had expected it. Then again, Viktor wasn't surprised; his father's work as a researcher for the Ministry often meant that he was aware of things long before others in the wizarding community were.  
  
His mother, on the other hand, had worried and fussed just as he had known she would. And when Viktor had told them about the return of You-Know-Who, about Dumbledore's certainty on the subject, his mother had refused to believe it. Viktor knew, from the sad look his father had given him, that this too was no surprise to him.  
  
Things had been tense in the house since that night. His mother insisted on acting like nothing was wrong, like nothing had changed, and his father would not say a word to her on the subject. "It is pointless," he had said to Viktor later. "Your mother is afraid to believe it. If she believes it, it will become real, and she cannot bear that."  
  
Viktor wished he had the luxury of denial, but he had seen too much for that.  
  
"The more people who believe it, the more who will be willing to fight it," Dumbledore had said.  
  
He landed near his house with a grimace. If I could deny it happened, then I wouldn't need to do anything about it. But what could he do, really? What kind of power did he really have? If he couldn't get his own mother to understand, how could he possibly hope to influence anyone else?  
  
He pushed open the front door and went inside. The long front room was completely deserted, and Viktor walked through it, not caring about the mud he was tracking across the white carpet. He would use a scouring charm to clean it up later, hopefully before his mother saw it. He was halfway up the stairs to his room when her voice stopped him.  
  
"Viktor!" Her voice was coming from the back part of the house. Viktor pulled his wand from his robes and muttered a spell to remove the mud from the carpet. His mother appeared in the kitchen doorway. "I thought I heard you come in," she said, her smile a little too bright, as it had been all week.  
  
"I was flying," he said.  
  
"I know." She gave him a sad look, then brightened again. "There is someone in the fireplace for you. Your friend, Ivan."  
  
Viktor frowned. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Wrong? No, I don't think so. Come talk to him." Viktor started down the stairs, and his mother let out a short exclamation. "Your boots! You must clean them, Viktor. I am surprised you did not track mud everywhere."  
  
"Tergeo," he said, and the mud disappeared. His mother nodded approvingly. "Come along. Ivan is waiting."  
  
Viktor nodded and followed her into the kitchen. The grinning face of Ivan Pashnik looked out at him from the fire. "Viktor!" Ivan cried.  
  
"Ivan." Viktor leaned on his broomstick. "Is everything all right?"  
  
Ivan grinned again. "You could say that it is."  
  
Viktor frowned. Ivan knew as well as he did that You-Know-Who had come back. What could he possibly have to be so happy about? Viktor glanced at his mother, who was hovering in the doorway. "Have there been any attacks, near you?" he asked pointedly. His mother looked almost offended, and she turned and left the room.  
  
"No. Not yet, anyway." The humor had gone out of Ivan's voice now, and Viktor turned to look at him. "You heard about the attacks near Eger two days ago?"  
  
"Yes, I heard. Is Edina-"  
  
"She is fine. Actually, she has been here with me since Tuesday." Ivan cleared his throat. "That's...what I wanted to talk to you about."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Ivan looked off to the right and smiled. "Edina and I have some news. We wanted to tell you sooner, but we thought our parents should know first. We're getting married."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Married. You know, when two people-"  
  
"I know what it is." Viktor's tone was sharper than he'd intended. "But- now?"  
  
"Soon. August the eleventh, to be exact."  
  
Viktor frowned. "But what about-"  
  
"The attacks?" Ivan's face had gone uncharacteristically serious. "We decided we didn't want to wait. Especially not now."  
  
Viktor understood. If he had someone...like that, in his life, he wouldn't want to be away from her now either. He thought briefly of Hermione, miles away, and frowned. It wasn't the same, he knew, but he couldn't help but worry about her.  
  
"...wanted to let you know," Ivan was continuing. "You'll be the best man, of course."  
  
Viktor was jolted out of his thoughts. "Me?"  
  
Ivan laughed. "Yes, you. Unless you don't want to..."  
  
Viktor took a deep breath. "I would be honored."He dropped his shoulders and looked at Ivan. "Thank you for asking."  
  
Ivan smiled. "Who else would I ask? Edina's cousin will be the maid of honor. Maybe you can find some romance...unless you have someone else you'd like to bring the wedding?"  
  
Viktor winced at the obviousness of the question; however else Ivan Pashnik had changed over the last year, he certainly had not learned subtlety. "No," he said.  
  
"Ah. Have you heard from-"  
  
"No." Viktor had written to her the day after he had returned home, but he had not heard back from Hermione yet. He wondered how often "friends" wrote to one another.  
  
"Oh." Ivan was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Viktor."  
  
Viktor looked up in surprise. Ivan had never said anything like that to him before. "I...don't be," he said gruffly. He cleared his throat. "Congratulations to you. And to Edina too."  
  
Ivan nodded, still looking serious. "I will tell her you said so. And perhaps-"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Perhaps Edina and I could come visit before the wedding. Sit in on one of your Quidditch practices, perhaps." He grinned. "I have been trying to explain the excitement of Quidditch, but she argues with me. I need to make sure she understands the joy of Quidditch before I can marry her." Ivan's tone was jovial and light, but Viktor knew the motive behind his words. They were checking up on him again, just as they had done all year. For some reason, it no longer irritated him as it used to.  
  
He cocked his head to one side, considering Ivan's suggestion. "I think...I would like that."  
  
Ivan laughed. "Good, because we would have come anyway."  
  
Viktor shook his head. He didn't doubt it.  
  
"I have to go, Viktor. You...take care."  
  
"Goodbye, Ivan."  
  
Ivan's head disappeared with a pop, and Viktor stood looking into the flames for a long moment. It hadn't come as too much of a surprise to hear that Ivan and Edina planned to marry so soon-after all, Ivan Pashnik was nothing if not impetuous. It was obvious, though, to anyone who knew them that what Ivan and Edina had was nothing ordinary, that they truly loved each other. With a pang, Viktor thought of a pair of warm brown eyes that would never give him the kind of looks Edina gave Ivan. Friends. He had accepted that she didn't want to be his, that she never would be...and yet, a part of his heart still held tight to the image of her, in his arms at the Yule Ball. The idea of giving her up had been so much easier than the everyday reality of it. He allowed himself a brief vision of Hermione, dressed in white lace, her hair pulled back the way it had been at the ball-  
  
No, he told himself. He couldn't think like that. He had to find a way to let her go. Somehow.  
  
******  
  
Dear Viktor,  
  
I received your letter and I am glad you got home safely. How are your parents? I suppose they are glad to have you home again.  
  
I have been spending this week drawing up a summer study schedule for myself. There is so much to go over before school starts again, and the O.W.L.s are going to come up so quickly. I want to make sure I am ready. Oh, and if you think of it, would you mind sending me the name of that Transfiguration book you told me about-the one that talked about high- stress transformations? I know I wrote it down in my notes somewhere when we were talking about it, but I can't find the title now. My parents are letting me go to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys in a few weeks, and I thought I would look for it in Flourish and Blotts.  
  
I hope everything is going well. Take care of yourself.  
  
Hermione  
  
Viktor stared at the letter, wondering if he would ever get used to this. Still, she had written back to him fairly quickly; it had been a week since he had sent a letter to her, and he had half-expected to wait all summer for a reply. It was as if she understood that he had been worried about her safety, and needed to hear that she was all right.  
  
His owl, Branimir, was waiting on the bedside table, watching him with unblinking eyes to see if he would send a response. What was there to say, though? He couldn't say the things he really wanted to say to her; he did not want to embarrass himself by repeating them any more than she wanted to be embarrassed by hearing them. He sighed and folded the letter, putting it on the table.  
  
"No reply for now," he told Branimir. "Go rest." The owl blinked at him, then flew back to the window. Viktor heaved himself up off of the bed and pushed the window open. Branimir squeezed through, and, moments later, caught an updraft with his wings and soared out over the trees. Viktor watched him until he was out of sight, then turned and threw on his robes. He pulled on his boots and crossed the room to carefully remove his Baranof from where it rested on pegs above his bed.  
  
It was earlier than he normally went out to fly, but that didn't matter. It had been some time since he had seen his mountains in the dewy morning light, he realized as he emerged from the house and looked up. The trees directly behind his house were a riot of blues and golds. He didn't know what kind they were-some magical variety his mother had planted and maintained. In the autumn, instead of falling, the leaves transformed into small butterflies that swarmed around the house for several days and then disappeared into puffs of smoke. These had always been in his favorite trees as a child.  
  
Further up the slope, the trees consisted mainly of firs, most of non- magical varieties. It wasn't unusual, however, to find an occasional Jumping Juniper or Higbottom Hornbeam. The presence of these moving species helped fuel the rumors in the Muggle village that the forest was haunted, which in turn, ensured that the Muggles kept their distance.  
  
Viktor mounted his broomstick and kicked off hard from the ground. He rose sharply, then turned toward the east. There was a copse of beeches over that way where he liked to practice his precision flying, weaving between the slender trunks. He let himself rise again until he began to feel dizzy, then slowly descended and leveled out just above the treetops.  
  
I hope everything is going well. Take care of yourself.  
  
Hermione's letter flitted through his mind, and Viktor sighed into the morning breeze. He wondered if he should just send her the book she wanted- after all, he didn't need it anymore-or if that would be.too much. He was, apparently, very good at making her uncomfortable, and that was the last thing he wanted to do now. Would this ever get any easier?  
  
Viktor dove and came up in a Campos Spiral to vent his feelings. As he came out of the last loop, he looked down and froze.  
  
There, in the clearing below, was a dark-haired girl. Her face was turned up to the sky, and she was staring straight at him. He was low enough to see her shocked expression and the way her mouth hung open in surprise, and these left no doubt in his mind.  
  
She was a Muggle. 


	2. Morning Star

Thank you to Jedi Boadicea and Zsenya for betareading, and especially to Jedi B. for helping me channel my internal Bulgarian Muggle.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: Morning Star  
  
  
  
Viktor hovered in mid-air, staring at the girl. He had to act fast, he knew, or she would run back to the village and tell everyone she met what she had seen. He couldn't let that happen.  
  
But he also couldn't very well cast a Memory Charm on her until he had gotten to the ground and hidden his broomstick.  
  
Viktor pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it at her carefully. "Impedimenta," he said, and the girl froze in place, staring up at him. Of course, she had seemed frozen to the spot in surprise before he had even cast the spell, but he couldn't count on that lasting.  
  
Viktor soared over the girl's head, and could see her frightened eyes following him. He felt a pang of guilt at this, but reminded himself that she would not remember any of this soon, and she would be better off that way. He descended into the trees and made a smooth landing on the forest floor. After taking a moment to cast a protective charm on his broomstick, he set it to hovering inconspicuously in the branches of a nearby beech and turned toward the clearing.  
  
He crept out of the trees. There was no apparent need for secrecy, as the girl was still frozen in place with her back to him. However, if his time at Durmstrang had taught him anything, it was to be suspicious of any situation that seemed innocent or under his control. Viktor scanned the area. It was quite likely the girl was not alone - the rumors about the woods meant that the Muggles usually came up in groups, when they bothered to come up at all.  
  
There were no signs of others, however, and Viktor turned his attention back to the girl. A large notebook of some kind lay on the ground at her feet, its pages bent as if it had been dropped in a rush.  
  
"What..." said the girl, in a strangled voice.  
  
The spell was wearing off. Viktor took one last look around the clearing and stepped forward. "Obliviate!"  
  
The girl shook her head. Viktor thrust his wand back into his robes and turned, hoping to get back to the cover of the woods before she saw him.  
  
"Oh, hello."  
  
Viktor winced and turned around. The girl was facing him, her expression still slightly dazed. When he had seen her from above, he had thought her to be about twelve or thirteen, but now that he was close to her, the curves of her white blouse and blue flowered skirt made it quite clear that she was older than that. Her dark hair fell in soft ringlets, stopping just above her shoulders, and he was close enough to see that her eyes were dark blue.  
  
"Hello," replied Viktor.  
  
The girl smiled, the expression looking almost dreamy in her still-bemused state. She glanced down at the notebook. "Oh!" she said, bending to pick it up. "You must have startled me. I didn't hear you behind me."  
  
Viktor breathed an internal sigh of relief. The Memory Charm had worked. "I am sorry. I did not mean to - "  
  
"Oh, that's all right." The girl smiled again and shook her head as if to clear it. "Sometimes when I am drawing I don't hear anything. My father says it is as if I am in another world." She looked down at her notebook, smoothing the pages that had been bent.  
  
Viktor watched her as she carefully turned the pages, looking utterly absorbed. He was reminded of Hermione, and he frowned at his own thoughts. Why did everything have to remind him of her?  
  
But this girl seemed...softer, somehow. Much as he cared for Hermione, there was a hardness to her manner sometimes that could be intimidating. He felt guilty for thinking such a thing, but then, he reminded himself, it hardly mattered now.  
  
"What are you doing up here?" he asked.  
  
"I just came to draw," she said. "I love the forest in the morning." She turned and gazed up at the surrounding trees. Viktor recognized the look on her face. She felt at home in these mountains, the way he did. This forest, she felt, was hers.  
  
He frowned. "I have never seen you here before."  
  
"Oh, do you come up here often? I thought I was the only one." She smiled sheepishly. "My sister thinks I will be caught by the ghosts, but I only tell her that she is being silly." She paused and cocked her head to one side. "Are you from the village as well? I have never seen you there."  
  
Viktor swallowed. He should have crept away while she had been absorbed with her notebook. "It...is a long walk from the village."  
  
The girl laughed, and the sound of it startled him. It was like a soft wind rustling the beech leaves - something that crept up on you, but was not at all unpleasant. "You sound like my father. I like the walk. It gives me time to think." She paused. "But you did not answer my question."  
  
Viktor looked instinctively behind him, back to where his broom hovered. He wondered whether he could get back to it quickly enough to avoid being seen, if he cast another Memory Charm on her.  
  
"You are not from the village, are you?" The girl narrowed her eyes and took a step backwards. "What are you doing up here?" She looked around warily, as though she suspected he would do her harm.  
  
"No, I...I was just going for a walk," said Viktor quickly. For some reason, the thought of her believing him capable of harming her was discomfiting.  
  
She continued to eye him suspiciously, and Viktor found himself stumbling to offer her explanations. "I...I do not live in the village. You are correct. I live up here, in the mountains."  
  
The girl's mouth dropped open. "But no one lives in these mountains! Everyone knows these forests are haunted!"  
  
Viktor raised his eyebrows at her. "I thought that you said such beliefs are silly."  
  
"Well...they are, of course," she said, looking embarrassed. "But...I did not know that anyone lived up here."  
  
There were actually about a dozen wizarding homes scattered throughout the mountainside, with the Krums' being the largest. All had Muggle-Repelling Charms placed around them, so it was easy to see why she wouldn't know about them.  
  
Viktor pondered how he should answer her, and decided to go with simplicity. "I do."  
  
She nodded, her eyes roaming over his dark brown work robes. A look of sudden comprehension appeared on her face. "Oh!" she said. "Are you a brother?"  
  
Viktor frowned. What a strange question. "No, I am an only child."  
  
She gave him an odd look. "I...see."  
  
Viktor fidgeted slightly. He had the feeling he had just said something wrong, but he didn't know what. He knew he would probably have to cast another Memory Charm, but he found himself unwilling to do so. He wasn't sure why.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
Viktor started. It had been quite some time since he had had to introduce himself to anyone. Usually people already knew who he was, and what they wanted from him, before he even entered a room. "Viktor," he said. "My name is Viktor Krum."  
  
She smiled and stuck out her hand. "And I am Rositza Christova. It is nice to meet you, Viktor Krum."  
  
Viktor shook her outstretched hand, subconsciously noting how small and soft it was next to his own Quidditch-roughened one. "How old are you?" he blurted out, before he had decided to ask the question.  
  
"I am nineteen years old," she replied, and looked down. Viktor realized that he was still clutching her hand, and let go abruptly. Rositza bent her head to her notebook again, and Viktor thought he saw her smile shyly before her hair fell in front of her face and obscured her expression.  
  
They stood there in silence, the awkwardness of the moment hovering around them, and then Rositza looked up at him. "And you?"  
  
Viktor had no idea what she was talking about. "I...?"  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Ah. I am eighteen years old. I will turn nineteen in October." He wasn't sure why he had volunteered this information; it had certainly never been his way in the past.  
  
"I see." Rositza beamed up at him, as if he had said exactly the right thing. Viktor looked back at her, slightly bewildered but pleased, nonetheless, to be the recipient of her gentle smile.  
  
Viktor was suddenly vibrantly aware of the forest around them, the trees swaying in the morning breeze. Birds were twittering in all directions, and, from high above, the cry of a lone vulture could be heard. The sun shone down on the clearing, catching Rositza's dark curls and highlighting them with auburn.  
  
Then a cloud passed across the sun, and the moment was broken. Viktor and Rositza both moved suddenly, she to examine her notebook, he to look up, feigning interest in the bird of prey that still circled high above.  
  
"I...I suppose I should be getting home," said Rositza. "It is a long walk."  
  
Viktor nodded, relief mingling with disappointment as he watched her turn to go. "Be careful," he said.  
  
She turned back to him. "I will," she said, smiling slightly. "Perhaps...perhaps I will see you up here in the forest again, Viktor Krum."  
  
And then she was gone, darting through the trees before he could even respond.  
  
Viktor walked back to where his broom waited for him and pulled out his wand. "Accio Baranof," he said absently, and the broom dropped into his grasp.  
  
He decided to walk at least part of the way home, to make sure that he wasn't spotted again. Once he was further up the mountainside, he cast a Revealing Charm to make sure there were no Muggles nearby. There weren't, so he mounted his broomstick once more and rose into the air. He shoved his wand into the pocket of his robes, and frowned as it rustled against something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment - Hermione's letter. He must have shoved it into his pocket without thinking, as he had left his room that morning.  
  
Viktor let his broom hover in the shadow of a large fir tree and swept his eyes over the parchment.  
  
I hope everything is going well. Take care of yourself.  
  
He would write her back, this he knew. But all the things he had wanted to say to her this morning, the things he had forced himself not to write, seemed suddenly less urgent, less...painful.  
  
Viktor held up his hand, loosening his fingers so that the wind tugged the parchment from his grasp. He watched it flutter away into the forest below. Then, taking a deep breath, he nudged his broom higher, above the trees, so that he could feel the sun on his face. 


	3. As the World Goes By

A/N: Thanks to ziusik and Zsenya for giving Rositza a village of her own.Thanks to Zsenya and Jedi Boadicea for the betas.

**Chapter 3: As the World Goes By**

The next morning Viktor was especially careful to cast Revealing Charms ahead of him as he flew, though he could not truly have said whether he was glad or disappointed when they revealed that he was alone on the mountain.The image of Rositza Christova stayed with him, but he did not relish the thought of seeing her again.In fact, he'd meant to avoid the beech copse altogether.It wasn't worth it to risk another sighting.

But his curiosity got the better of him, and he edged closer to the copse, casting charms along the way.It too was deserted.

_Good_, he told himself, _now I can do what I came to do yesterday._But after a few half-hearted loops through the trees, Viktor gave up.His mind was not on Brown Ballistas or Levine Lunges today.Instead he skimmed low over the treetops, to the mountain's peak, and looked down on the village.It was odd, really, that he had lived so close to Muggles all his life, and yet had never been curious about them.All he knew of them came from his professors at Durmstrang, who detested them, or from his father, who, though his job at the Bulgarian Ministry often involved protecting Muggles, had no particular love for them.

And perhaps that was why Rositza intrigued him as she did, why he kept thinking about her.For she contradicted everything he had ever learned about Muggles and their slow, stupid ways. Most of the villagers were too afraid to venture far up the mountain, let alone into the woods on the far side.And yet she had come, alone, just to be by herself in the clearing.She had seemed small and delicate, and yet she must have been brave to be there alone.

He swept his eyes over the crowded rooftops in the village below.He wondered which house Rositza Christova lived in, what her life was like.He tried to imagine living without magic, and found that he couldn't.For the first time he wished he had elected to take the "Muggle Studies" class that had been offered to the Durmstrang students last year at Hogwarts.

"_Oh, no, Dumbledore_," Karakaroff had said with a laugh, when Professor Dumbledore had informed them of this option."_Just the basics, if you please.No need for such nonsense.And in addition I will be tutoring my students in some of the subjects they would otherwise miss this year_."By which, of course, he had meant Dark Arts Lessons.Viktor had been quite thankful when these "tutoring sessions" had fallen by the wayside early in the school year; Karkaroff, it seemed, had had other things on his mind.

But now, looking down at the industrious streets below, he wondered if Muggles really might be worth studying after all.It was quite something, wasn't it, that they got along without magic?

He resolved to ask his father about it, when he got home, and slipped quietly down the mountain.

But when he brought the subject up at dinner that night, his father's reaction was hardly what he expected.

"Why do you ask?Have you seen something?" his father pressed, the moment Viktor mentioned the village.

"I...no," Viktor stammered."I was just...curious."He had not told either of his parents about the Memory Charm of the day before, and he wasn't sure why he lied to his father now.But he was taken aback by the intensity with which his father questioned him."Is something wrong?"

His father glanced quickly at his mother, who looked down at her plate with pursed lips.He sighed and rubbed at his forehead."I am sorry, son.There have been more rumors of Death Eater activity in the area.The Muggle Explanation Unit has been on full alert for three days, in case anything should happen."

Viktor felt his breath leave him.He hadn't expected it to happen so soon, or so quickly.Or so close.

His father raised his head and forced a smile."But why do you ask about this, Viktor?Does it have something to do with your friend?"

Viktor stared at him.How did he know...

"Nikolas."Viktor's mother gave her father a quick look and shook her head warningly, and Viktor understood.They thought he was asking about Muggles because of Hermione.The swift shadow of an old pain passed over his heart, and was gone.

"I was just curious," said Viktor, "with all...that has been happening."

This had the desired effect; his mother looked down abruptly, and his father gave him a sad smile and nodded his head in understanding.

And Viktor's questions were still unanswered, his curiosity now fueled by a sense of unease.

~**~

He knew, the next morning when he rose early to fly, that he should stay away from the beech copse.He also knew that he wouldn't.

He stayed close to the tops of the trees as he approached the copse, and cast a Revealing Charm ahead of him.The air around the copse shimmered blue - there was someone there, but not someone dangerous.Viktor's heart thumped in his chest.Silently he descended between two large oak trees and hid his broom in the lower leaves of the nearest one.Thrusting his wand into the inner pocket of his robes, he crept forward through the trees.He stopped behind a tall bush and peered out into the clearing.

She was there, sitting on the grass, leaning back against a large rock.She was bent over her notebook, her pencil moving across the page in long, precise strokes.Occasionally she would glance up at the trees above her, biting her lip, and then return to her work.

Viktor suddenly felt very stupid, standing just outside the clearing watching her.Why had he come anyway?He had had no dealings with Muggles.He would probably slip up if he tried to talk to her, and have to put another Memory Charm on her.And this, he found, he was loath to do.

"Are you going to talk to me?" she said, not looking up from her notebook."Or do you plan to hover behind that bush all morning?"

Viktor stared at her, and she glanced up at him."Well," she said with a smile, "are you?"

Viktor cleared his throat and stepped into the clearing.He felt stupid, and silly, and was now painfully aware of the contrast between her Muggle clothes - a long flowered dress today - and his own red school robes."I...I was just...taking a walk."

"And your path led you here."Her tone was light, but her face was slightly pink as her eyes returned to her notebook.

"I...suppose it did."He stood awkwardly at the edge of the clearing, and there was a silence, broken only by the distant cry of a nuthatch and the scratching of her pencil.

She glanced up at him."Well, sit down, why don't you."

Viktor hesitated, then stooped and sat in the grass a few feet away from her.She smiled at him."So you must be real, and not a ghost of the mountain, if I have seen you twice now."

Viktor frowned."No, I am not a ghost."

"Why have I never seen you here before?I come here often, to draw."Her eyes were on her notebook again, but Viktor could see that the movement of her pencil was aimless now, drawing doodles along the side of the page.He began to feel that he was not the only one who felt awkward, and it gave him a small measure of comfort.

"You were not here yesterday."

She gave him a quick, sideways look."No.I was at church, with my family."She paused, and then smiled at him."But you did not answer my question."

"I have been away, at school," he said."In England."

She looked up at him."So far away?Oh, I would love to travel there.I have read so much about it."

Viktor was relieved that she didn't ask him the name of the school.He didn't know what he would have said.

"You have never been there?"

Rositza sighed heavily."I have never been anywhere.Sometimes I feel as though I will rot away in Pupgorodok."She clutched at her notebook, and a shadow passed over her face.

Viktor didn't know how to respond to this sudden burst of anguish, so he didn't say anything.Rositza shook her head slightly and gave a small, sardonic laugh.Then she pulled her knees up and rested her notebook against them.She ran her pencil absently across the page.

"What are you drawing?" asked Viktor.

Rositza looked up at him, and her face went pink."It is nothing,"she said quickly."Just silly sketches and imaginings."

She was embarrassed, he realized, so he didn't pursue the subject, though he was very curious to see her drawings.He wondered what kinds of things Muggles drew.No doubt houses and pails and ordinary everyday objects. 

Viktor tried to think of something to say, and could think of nothing.Rositza looked up at him from under her dark eyelashes, then, with a sheepish movement, she shut her notebook.Viktor was slightly hurt.It wasn't as if he would have looked at her drawings, if she did not want him to.

_This is ridiculous_, he thought.He shouldn't even be here in the first place, and now he was feeling slighted by something so trivial?Hadn't he learned a thing in the past year?

Disgusted with himself, Viktor stood and brushed the grass off of his robes."I have to go," he muttered."I have to get to practice."It was true; his first practice back with the Vultures was today, and he could imagine that Conrad Boyar would have several choice words for him if he were late.

"Practice?" repeated Rositza, and Viktor stopped in his tracks. He cursed his own stupidity, letting something like that slip.Now how would he explain?Frantically he searched his memory for any mention that Hermione might have ever made of Muggle sports.

"An athlete," Rositza said in a musing sort of way, and Viktor could not tell whether it was surprise or disappointment that tinged her voice."Hmm, let me guess which sport."Her lips twisted into a smile as she looked up at him appraisingly.It was unnerving, if not unpleasant, to be appraised so by those dark eyes.Her gaze fell on his face."Boxing?"Viktor stared at her."No, I suppose not.Hmm..." She cocked her head to one side, then raised her eyebrows doubtfully."Is it football?"

This, at least, Viktor had heard of.He had a vague memory of a fan letter once, from a Muggle-born wizard who had written him a point-by-point comparison of football and Quidditch.He had not been able to follow it then, nor had he seen the challenge in a game played on the ground with only one ball, but the memory was enough to go on for now.

"Yes," he said."I must go."

"Do you always fly away so quickly when people talk to you?"

Viktor turned and stared at her in alarm."What?"

She gave him a puzzled glance."Well, you just got here, and now you are leaving.Have I frightened you?"

She was teasing him, he realized.She had no idea about the Baranof floating gently in the leaves of the oak tree a few meters away.He felt his shoulders relax, and he looked down at the top of her head for a long moment; her eyes were downcast again, and she was doodling on the grey cover of her notebook.

And then, to his own astonishment, he heard himself answering her, in that same light, bantering tone."I do not wish to disturb your solitude."Where had that come from?Perhaps he had been spending too much time with Pashnik lately.

But to his even greater surprise, Rositza lifted her head and grinned."I do not mind so much.I...like the company."

Viktor felt his face go red, but he nodded."Then perhaps I will see you here tomorrow, and I will not have to leave so quickly."

"Perhaps."Rositza met his eyes briefly."Goodbye, Viktor Krum."

"Goodbye."

Viktor turned and walked out of the clearing, pausing only once to look back.Rositza had opened her notebook and was sketching again.

"You had better hurry, or you will be late," she said, not looking up, and Viktor flushed.He hurried back to the oak trees to get his Baranof.

~**~

"Grubo, get in there!Sarac, Veneva, what do you think this is?A friendly pick-up match?Move in on that Hawkshead!"The voice of Conrad Boyar, magically magnified, echoed across the Vratsa Vultures' practice pitch.Viktor was, as ever, amazed that his coach could keep up such a steady commentary, often punctuated with growling oaths and threats, all while wielding his Beaters' Club with intense ferocity.Indeed, it wasn't unusual for Boyar to send a Bludger in the direction of a player he thought needed "waking up" on the pitch. 

"Krum!"Kiril Tsvetanov looped Viktor and pointed toward the other end of the pitch."Ligachev's spotted it."

Viktor swung around in alarm and saw Anton Ligachev, the reserve Seeker, hurtling toward the ground.He snorted. "Feint," he grunted.It was too obvious, the way Ligachev's broom wobbled slightly, the way his eyes darted up to see if Viktor had taken the bait.If this was the way Ligachev had played Seeker during the time Viktor had been away, it was no wonder that the Vultures had only won four matches.

"Tsvetanov, stop chattering and get on that Quaffle.Ivanova's been trying to pass it to you for five minutes."Boyar sent a Bludger racing toward Kiril, and he had to roll right over on his broom to avoid it.Viktor dodged the Bludger and rose higher over the pitch, training his eyes for the Snitch.

The practice had been going on for nearly thirty minutes now, and Viktor had already caught the Snitch twice.Boyar had had the team in the air straightaway; no wasting time standing around talking for him.The closest thing Viktor had gotten to a "welcome back" from him had been a gruff, "Hope you're not believing your press, boy.I don't care how many pieces your heart is breaking into, you get that Snitch."The other players, to whom that awful _Witch Weekly_ article was clearly an old subject of discussion, had laughed, Tsvetanov even punching Viktor's shoulder in what he clearly thought was a friendly fashion.Viktor's face had burned, and he'd gritted his teeth as he had mounted his broom.He wondered how many times he would have to hear about that wretched article.

Viktor executed an absentminded Lopes Lurk as he scanned the pitch.It was comforting, somehow, to be back in practices with the Vultures, but it was also a bit tedious.Nothing had changed - Boyar's biting comments, the too-eager smiles of the reserve players, and most of all, Viktor's own sense that it didn't even really _matter_ if he caught the Snitch.But he himself had changed.He'd seen things that no one could see without being changed somehow.

And now, back where he had always wanted to be as a child, he was bored.

He thought idly of Rositza's comment -_"__Is it football?"_ - and entertained himself idly trying to remember the rules of that Muggle sport, at least as they had been explained to him in the half-legible scrawls of that fan letter.

The moment the rustle of silver wings glinted at him from across the pitch, however, Viktor's mind was back on his business.He spurred his Baranof up and sped over the two reserve Chasers in his path, until his fingers closed with practiced ease around the smooth golden ball.

"So you haven't forgotten how to catch that Snitch!" roared Conrad.His whistle cut through the air, and all the players flew down to the ground.

Boyar regarded them all darkly."A decent enough warm up," he said after a moment, and though he had taken the amplification spell off his voice, it still cut across the pitch and echoed around the stands."Fifteen minutes, and then I want everyone back here to work on strategy."He turned and headed toward the stands, not sparing them a backward glance.

Viktor rolled his shoulders back and stretched his arms.It had been some time since he had been on a broomstick quite that long, and he was stiffer than he should have been.

"A bit out of shape?" came a teasing voice behind him, and Viktor turned to see Susannah Ivanova, one of the Chasers, grinning at him.

"I am fine," he said, more defensively than he had meant to, dropping his shoulders.

"Do you mean that you didn't keep up with Conrad's six hour a day practice schedule?"She widened her eyes in mock-surprise."Do you mean that you could not find time, what with facing down dragons and going to class?"

Viktor smiled, almost against his will."I practiced," he said.

She smiled."You don't need it anyway.It's good to have you back." She glanced over her shoulder at Ligachev, who was talking loudly to Grubo at the other end of the pitch."Maybe we will win a match once in awhile now."

Viktor shrugged.It pleased him, though, to hear such praise from her.Susannah Ivanova was, quite simply, the finest Chaser he had ever seen.An offhand remark from her about his skill meant more than all the covers of _Quidditch Today_ ever could.And she had always treated Viktor as an equal on the team, always listened seriously to his opinions on tactics, even when the other, older players had acted as if he was nothing but a young upstart.He doubted she would ever know how much he appreciated that.

Susannah looked around, then leaned in closer."How was...the tournament?"she asked in a low voice.

He looked at her quickly.The question was innocuous enough, but something in her manner put him on his guard.Dumbledore's words rang in his ears._Be careful about whom you trust. _His heart sank at the thought of Susannah Ivanova, the great Chaser, one of the few Quidditch players he actually respected, being unworthy of his trust.But he could not be too careful.__

"It was...intense," he said.He knew that news of Diggory's death had not reached the press, so it was unlikely that she would know anything about the tournament aside from hearsay. 

Susannah lifted one eyebrow, her dark eyes studying him.She looked as if she wasn't sure whether she wanted to say more."I have heard...some things," she said at last, and her voice was so low that Viktor barely caught it.

"Things?" said Viktor lightly.Warning bells were going off in his head now."What kinds of things?"

She hesitated."That a student died, and not because of the tournament."She raised her head and looked him in the eye."That you - "But then she faltered and broke off her gaze.

Viktor took an involuntary step backward._That you tortured him_, she had started to say.How could anyone know that?Had rumors spread so far, in the wake of that disastrous night?He felt the bile rising in his throat, and he forced himself to remain calm._It was not your fault_, he told himself._It was not your fault._

__

Susannah looked up at Viktor, a smile on her face."I'm sure it was nothing," she said."Just rumors."But her wary eyes studied Viktor's face, as though they expected to find an answer there to some question she hadn't asked.

"Team!" boomed Boyar's voice."Over here."

Susannah gave Viktor one last fleeting smile as she turned to walk over to Boyar.Viktor followed.Boyar launched into a labored description of new strategies, but Viktor's mind was not on them at all.He went over the rather disturbing conversation in his mind.

It wasn't until later during practice, when he was up on his broomstick once again, watching the Chasers practice the new "Octopus Maneuver" that Boyar had developed, that he realized what his brain had been trying to decipher.

_That you tortured him_, he had thought she was going to say._That you were responsible._

But that wasn't it at all, he realized, remembering the dark look of knowledge in her eyes.He cursed his own stupidity.Hadn't he learned yet, that these things were bigger than himself?

_That You-Know-Who is back._That's what she had been ready to say.

Viktor swung around, his eyes picking out Susannah at the other end of the pitch, hovering next to one of the goalposts and talking with Irina Prandzheva.She must have felt his eyes on her, because she turned and looked at him.

She knew.The expression on her face told him so.She knew that You-Know-Who was back, and hadn't even needed the confirmation from him to make it real.

But whether that knowledge terrified or delighted her, he could not tell.

__


	4. Ground to Gain

A/N:  Thank you to Zsenya and Arabella, my awesome betareaders, and to anyone who is actually still reading this story. J

Chapter Four: Ground to Gain

Viktor went to the clearing every morning for the next week, and Rositza was almost always there, her head bent over her notebook.  They both still acted as if these meetings were chance.  He knew he shouldn't go, knew that it would invite complications eventually, but the beech copse was becoming one of his favorite retreats, a place where he didn't have to deal with any of the other issues pressing in around him in the real world.  It was pleasant to sit in the grass and watch Rositza draw, or listen to her talk about her dreams of leaving the village.  He knew he could not relax entirely around her, and he dreaded the times when she asked questions about his life, but these were rare; she never pressed for answers.  Often they did not even speak at all, but sat a few feet apart in the clearing, lost in their own thoughts.  As if, Viktor often thought, they were enjoying the solitude together.

He knew that he should stay away, that even a friendship with this girl was probably impossible.  But he found it difficult to deny himself the comfort of her company, the thrill of looking forward to seeing her smile at him each day.  Practice sessions with the Vultures had become increasingly difficult; Ligachev was now using every opportunity to belittle him or mention that terrible article in Boyar's hearing, and, after a few days of strained awkwardness, Viktor and Susannah seemed to have come to a tacit agreement not to discuss You-Know-Who or his return.  But he often felt her watching him carefully, assessing him, and her apparent unwillingness to openly discuss it with him made him ever more suspicious.  The thought of someone like Susannah supporting You-Know-Who was enough to give him a stomachache.

And so it was that the hours just after dawn became the best part of each day.  Rositza did not seem to want anything at all from him, except perhaps his company.  And she was something that was his alone, that he did not have to share with the rest of his world.  He liked it that way.

~**~

It was a sunny July morning, the evergreens along the mountainside sharp against the blue sky.  Viktor hadn't even bothered to bring his broomstick with him this morning, partially because he wanted the walking time to think, and partially because he did not want her belief that he walked to the beech copse each morning to be founded on a total lie.  The walk was longer than he had thought it would be, however, and he was breathless and his legs were cramped by the time he reached the clearing.

Rositza was there, and heard him coming before he even came out of the trees.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her face looking alarmed, when he limped into the clearing.

"I am fine," Viktor grunted, and eased himself down onto the ground.  He was definitely not used to that much walking, and it required different muscles from Quidditch.

"Are you sure?" asked Rositza.  "I have never seen you so out of breath."

"I…was hurrying to get here," Viktor said quickly.  "I left late."

Rositza gave him a shy smile and looked down at her notebook.  She passed her pencil lightly over the page a few times.  "I am glad you came," she said without looking up.

A warmth spread through Viktor's chest that had nothing to do with his morning exertions.  It was something, to think that she valued this time as much as he did.  

"So am I," he said quietly.  She didn't look up, but her cheeks went slightly pink, and he could tell that she was pleased.

"How was your football practice yesterday?"

"It was fine."  Viktor wished he could have told her about the way the other players teased about that _Witch Weekly article, or his concerns about Susannah.  But no, he didn't want her to get mixed up with any of that.  Even if he could have told her those things, he wouldn't._

Rositza nodded; perhaps she had learned not to expect extended answers from him.  She frowned. "I wanted to ask you something," she said.  "You said you'd been in England, at school.  Did you visit any of the universities while you were there?"  She looked up at him, eyes shining.

Viktor shook his head.  He hoped she wouldn't ask him any further questions.  There were so many things he could not say to her.  Was it always this way, with girls?

"Oh."  Rositza looked down again, lips pursed.  "I only wondered.  I have been reading about different universities in Europe, and I thought that you might have…"

Viktor was suddenly reminded of Hermione and a conversation he had had with her in the library, not long after he had asked her to the Yule Ball.  She had gone on for a full hour about the rating system employed in _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_.  He smiled, and realized with some surprise that the memory was a fond one, without bitterness.

Rositza pushed her hair behind her ear in a self-conscious gesture; she thought that he was smiling at what she had said, he realized.  He hurried to say something to put her at ease.

"You want to go to university?" he asked.

She looked up sheepishly.  "I suppose it's silly.  I will probably never get there."  She turned her head away from him.  "Just a dream."

Something pitying stirred in Viktor's heart, and he wanted to tell her that dreams could come true, and that sometimes the reality of them was not as good as the dreaming. But the words stuck in his throat.

"What do you want to study?" he said instead.

She looked at him, surprise in her eyes.

"Art," he said, answering his own question.  

She smiled slightly.  "Yes," she said, running her hand almost lovingly along the edge of her notebook.  She paused.  "In the afternoons, I help old Eliza Angelova at her pottery shop.  She throws all the pots herself.  You should see them.  They are beautiful."  Rositza bit her lip.  "Sometimes she lets me help with the designs.  She was the one who gave me my first sketchbook, when I was only thirteen.  I used to love to go into her shop on summer days and look at all the pots lined up on the shelves, and she would let me touch them if I was careful."

Viktor nodded.

"Anyway," Rositza went on, "I work there in the afternoons now.  My father lets me because we need the money."  Her eyes flicked quickly to his face, as if assessing his reaction, but Viktor was not surprised.  From what he had seen of the village, few people of great wealth lived there.  He thought of all the Galleons he had earned playing Quidditch, and wished he could give her some of them.  But they would do her no good, even if he could.

"I enjoy it, though," said Rositza.  "And…Eliza has a special pot at the back of the store, a big blue one.  She calls it my university fund.  If I do a good job, or if she gets a little extra money, she puts it in there.  She says that she will give it to me when it is full, and I will fly away from Pupgorodok and became a famous artist, and that I am not to forget the little old potter who sent me."  Rositza grinned fondly, and then her face cleared.  "She has never told my father about the blue pot, and neither have I.  Do you think that is wrong?"

Viktor thought of all the things he had kept from his own parents, including his meetings with Rositza.  "No," he said.  "It is not wrong.  Not all secrets are bad.  It is your secret."

"And yours, now," said Rositza, smiling.

Viktor nodded.  "Where will you go, if you go?"

Rositza shrugged.  "Anywhere.  Away from here."  She looked down at the notebook and sighed.  "If I am even accepted."

"You will be," said Viktor automatically.  "I am sure that you have a great deal of talent."

Rositza looked up at him warily.  This was the closest Viktor had come to asking to see her drawings.  He had never prodded her to show them to him, though he had to admit he was curious.  But they were hers, and if she did not want to show them to him, he would understand.  Some things were too private to share, with anyone.

"You can look at them, if you like," she said quietly.

Viktor nodded, and she handed him the notebook.  It was open to a half-finished sketch of a dragon, its wings open in flight.  He looked up at her quickly.  He knew that Muggles had myths and legends about dragons, and that they often had fanciful notions about the creatures.

Rositza had become engrossed in studying her fingernails, as if she was afraid to see what he thought of her drawings.

Viktor turned the page and gasped.  There, staring up at him with yellow eyes, was a full-color drawing of a Swedish Short-Snout.  The details were not exactly right; the flame coming from the beast's nostrils was red instead of brilliant blue, and the claws were too curved.  But the silver-blue scales had been colored meticulously, and the rearing posture spoke to the knowledge of the freedom of the sky.

Viktor flipped through the rest of the notebook.  Dragons filled every page, some fully colored in reds, greens, and blues, some half-sketched and then abandoned, some curled into sleeping postures, some in flight, some reared as if to attack.  A few were recognizable as Welsh Greens or Hungarian Horntails, though their details, like the Short-Snout's, were off enough that it was clear that Rositza's knowledge of them had come from folklore rather than first-hand experience.

"They're silly, I know," Rositza said at last, breaking the silence.

Viktor looked up quickly from the red dragon he had been studying.  "No," he said.  "They are very good.  Many of them are very…realistic."

Rositza's eyes shone.  "Do you really think so?  I have always loved to draw dragons, I don't know why.  I used to read stories about them as a small girl."  She scooted closer to him.  "There was one, about a girl who befriended a dragon, and the two of them would fly off and have adventures.  The dragon would cast up a magical shield around them whenever something bad tried to attack them.  I tried to draw that one, but I could never get the tail right."  She reached over to the sketchbook and turned a few pages, and then pointed to a drawing in the lower corner.  Viktor could see the outline of a girl, seated on the dragon's back, and he held back a snort.  _Why_ would anyone in their right mind want to ride a dragon?  Muggles really had no idea what they were talking about.

Rositza sighed.  "I know it's silly, but…sometimes I want it to be real so much that it hurts, like an ache in my heart."  She leaned back against the rock behind her and closed her eyes.  "The dragons, the magic…all of it."  She opened her eyes.  "Do you ever feel that way?"

Viktor struggled for something to say, but before he could, she laughed.  "No, I suppose it's silly."  She reached over to take her notebook back from him.

Viktor held on to the notebook.  "It is not silly," he said softly.  "Wishes are not silly."

She met his eyes hesitantly, as if she thought he might be mocking her.  Viktor was suddenly aware of how close she was sitting, of the heat of her leg only inches from his, and of the place just above his elbow where her arm brushed his as she reached for her notebook.  His mouth went dry.

"It is not silly," he repeated.

Rositza's eyes softened and her mouth curved into a small smile.  "Maybe not," she said, "but most people don't understand it."

"I understand it."

Rositza cocked her head and looked at him.  "I think you do."

Viktor realized he was still gripping her notebook, and let go.  Rositza placed the book in her lap and looked down at it, her cheeks pink. 

"Have you shown your drawings to your parents?" Viktor asked.  

Rositza looked up at him and shook her head, eyes wide.  She gave a little laugh.  "Silly imaginings, they would call them."  Her face grew sad for a moment, and then she cleared her throat and stood up, tucking her pencil into the pocket of her skirt.  She looked down at Viktor.  "I…will not be able to come tomorrow.  My father will be at home."

Viktor looked up at her in surprise.  "He does not know you come here?"

"No, of course not," said Rositza, rolling her eyes.  "He does not like the mountains.  I think he believes the ghost stories.  But he thinks that anywhere outside the boundaries of Pupgorodok is dangerous.  He would never let me come, if he knew."

"Oh."  Viktor felt suddenly very selfish.  He had only considered his own situation coming here; it hadn't occurred to him that these daily meetings might be a risk for her, as well.  That seeing him might be worth that.

But then, he told himself, she had come here to draw, before she'd even met him, so maybe it had nothing to do with him after all.

Rositza was looking down at him now, an indefinable expression on her face.  "Well, goodbye, Viktor."

Viktor nodded.  The sun was behind her, lighting up the edges of her curls with an auburn glow.  Did he imagine it, or did disappointment cross her face?  Before he could tell, she turned and began to walk across the clearing.

"I hope you will show me some more of your work," Viktor said, before he'd planned it.  

Rositza paused and looked over her shoulder.  "Of course, if you'd like."

"I would."

Rositza smiled, and he thought that her steps were lighter as she turned and walked out of the clearing.

~**~

He was in the stands at the first task.  He looked down, and there was a model of a Chinese Fireball striding across his palm, but there was something wrong with it; it was missing its golden spikes, and the eyes were too flat.

"Isn't this exciting?" said a voice next to him, and he turned to see Ivan sitting next to him.  Edina was seated on Ivan's other side.  They both looked at him expectantly.

"Well, aren't you going to use it?" Ivan asked, pointing at Viktor's hand, and Viktor looked back to see that he now held his wand instead of the dragon.  It was thick and comforting in his hand.

Viktor shook his head.  "I don't need it yet."

Ivan laughed.  "You will.  You can't just sit there.  Look, it is Diggory's turn."

Viktor turned toward the field below.  Cedric Diggory was striding into the arena, and the Swedish Short-Snout reared up when she saw him.  Her claws were curved and far too sharp.  There was no way Diggory would be able to get past her.

Viktor stood and sprinted down the steps.  He lifted his wand to aim a Conjunctivitis Curse at the dragon, but before he could open his mouth, a dreamy haze fell over his brain.

_Pain_, said a voice in his head.  He aimed his wand at Diggory.

"_Crucio," said a voice, which seemed to come from his own mouth, and outside himself, all at once._

Diggory's grey eyes opened wide with shock, and his body fell twitching to the ground.  Viktor lowered his wand, satisfaction and disgust mingling in his chest.  

But then he looked again, to where Diggory was pulling himself to his feet, but it was no longer Diggory.  Rositza stood there now, her dark curls disheveled about her flushed face, and a bewildered look of pain in her eyes as she stared up at him.

Viktor slowly became aware of the shouts in the stands all about him.

"It's a Muggle!"

"Don't let it escape!"

"Who let that thing in here?"

Rositza looked around fearfully, then ran to hide behind the dragon.  But the Short-Snout raised its lethal claws, and brought them down –

Viktor woke up breathing hard, his sheets soaked with sweat.  Morning light slanted in across his bed, and he pulled himself up into a sitting position and mopped his forehead with a dry corner of the sheet.  He'd thought the nightmares were going away, but it seemed they'd only decided to take on newer and more disturbing forms.

He squinted at the light coming in through the window and decided that it was not too early to get up.  He had already thrown on his robes and was lacing up his boots when he remembered that Rositza would not be waiting for him in the clearing that morning.  Cursing softly, he sat down on the bed.  He knew it had only been a dream, but he very much wanted to see her, to make sure that she was all right.

_You are being foolish_, he told himself.  _It was only a dream, nothing more._

He went downstairs to the kitchen, where his mother sat at the table, her coffee cup stirring itself before her.

"Good morning, dear," she said, her voice too cheery, too bright.  Viktor was immediately on edge.

"Good morning, Mother.  What is wrong?"

"Nothing, dear, nothing.  Come sit down.  I will have Akakii bring you some breakfast."  She stood and walked over him, and kissed him on the cheek.  "Not flying this morning?  You never have breakfast with your mother anymore," she complained.  "The younger, prettier girls get all your attention now, I suppose."

Viktor flinched.  He wished she wouldn't say things like that.  It reminded him that she had actually _seen_ the things that wretched Skeeter woman had written, and his face burned.  

"Where is Father?" Viktor asked.

His mother's smile faltered a tiny bit.  "Oh, he is working in the den.  He is always working now, it seems."

Viktor turned to go to the den – something did not feel right, and he knew that his mother would not tell him whatever it was – but before he had taken two steps, his father burst into the kitchen and slapped a newspaper down onto the table.

"There, Anna, do you see this?  Now will you listen to me?" he said.

Viktor looked at the newspaper.  It was the _Daily Prophet, and there, on the front page, was a photo of a tiny Muggle cottage, or what was left of it.  The roof had collapsed, and smoke rose all around it, wisping out of the frame.  Over it all hung the glittering points of the Dark Mark.  "_It Never Ends_" blared the headline._

"Where?" demanded Viktor.  His stomach felt as though it was suddenly filled with ice.

His father turned to face him.  His eyes were bloodshot and his face was grey; he'd clearly been up all night.  "Near Byala," he said, his voice hoarse now.

That was not so far away.  They were getting closer.  "Too close," muttered Viktor.

His father nodded, his eyes somber.  "It was a family of Muggles," he said.  "They'd been celebrating the younger boy's birthday.  He'd just turned five.  It is all there in the article."  He smacked his hand down on the paper, and it made a hollow sound.

Viktor turned to his mother.  She had sunk back into her chair, and was sitting with her eyes closed tightly.  "Mother," he said gently, touching her shoulder.

She let out a stifled sob and fled from the kitchen.  Viktor moved to follow.

"Let her go," said his father, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  "It is difficult for her, because of Tereza."

Viktor nodded.  He had never known much about his mother's cousin Tereza, only that she had been killed the last time You-Know-Who had risen.  She and his mother had been extremely close, and his mother never liked to talk about what had happened; it pained her too much.  

"What will be done?" asked Viktor.

His father gave a bitter laugh.  The same that is always done.  The Muggle Explanation Unit has already taken care of the site and modified the memories of the neighbors.  And now there will be even more pressure on those of us in research and surveillance."  He shook his head sadly and looked down at the picture.  "We will all be touched by it, before this is over."

"Father, is there anything – "

"No," said his father quickly, his head snapping up.  "Go to practice, Viktor.  Stay out trouble.  Do not give anyone a reason to…well, be careful."

Viktor nodded.  His father clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a half-hearted smile.  "I need to go back into the office and help sort things out," he said.  "Give your mother some time, but check on her before you leave, yes?"

"Yes, Father."

His father pulled his wand and Disapparated.  Viktor sat down and began to read the article, but felt nauseated before he'd reached the second paragraph, and pushed the paper away.  He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against his palms, but the Dark Mark glittered there behind his eyelids, just as it had the night of the Quidditch World Cup.

_We will all be touched by it, before this is over._

He could only hope his father was wrong about that.


	5. Heart for a Pair of Wings

A/N: Thanks to Jedi Boadicea for the ideas behind some of the key plot points in this chapter, and for betareading, and for being, apparently, the only one who loves me. 

Chapter 5: Heart for a Pair of Wings

Viktor got to his feet and paced the clearing for the tenth time that morning.  Would she never arrive?  He knew he had arrived too early; he had been here for at least an hour, the sound of the wind in the trees his only companion.  He'd been unable to get there the day before, as he'd had to go to an earlier Quidditch practice.  At least, that was what he told himself.  But the truth was that he hadn't wanted to face her after reading about the latest attack in the local wizarding newspaper.  The attack near Byala the week before had been closer, but the picture of this one was ten times more disturbing.  It had been in an apartment building this time, and one whole section of the building had been blasted away, leaving a gaping hole on the middle of the third storey.  A small foot had stuck out from beneath a pile of rubble at the base of the building.  The witch who had lived in that apartment had been Muggle-born, the papers said; she had also been a friend of Lily Potter, Viktor's father had whispered to him, his eyes darting toward the kitchen where his mother sat, oblivious.  The other victim had been a neighbor Muggle child who, authorities thought, had simply gotten in the way.

It was too much, after reading something like that, to come here and pretend he knew nothing of magic or its effects, so he had stayed away.  But now he only wanted Rositza to appear through the trees, to know that she was safe.  He wondered if he had made her angry by not coming yesterday.  But there had been several times when she had not been here; afterwards she would always explain that her father had been nearby and that she had not been able to get away.  Surely she would understand.

A twig snapped in the distance, and Viktor turned toward the sound, at once relieved and on edge.  He began to reach into his robes for his wand, just in case – recent events had reminded him of Karkaroff's hard lessons about staying on his guard at all times – but relaxed as Rositza's dark hair came into view.  She stopped briefly when she saw him, and a genuine smile lit her face.  Then she rushed towards him, and Viktor panicked.  They had done nothing more than sit close to one another in the two weeks he had known her, and now she looked as if she was going to –

But she pulled up short just in front of him and looked up into his face.  "You're here," she said, hugging her notebook to her chest.

Viktor nodded.  He couldn't look away from her eyes, which were gazing at him as if his being here at this moment was the most important thing in the world.

Rositza shifted in a nervous sort of way and then swatted him lightly on the arm with her pencil.  "I missed you yesterday," she said.  Her tone was light, but there was something underneath it that warmed him; she expected him to be here, relied on him to be here.  _Wanted him to be here._

"I…had to go to practice early.  I could not come.  I am sorry."

Rositza cocked her head to the side and studied him, frowning.  She could probably tell that he was lying.  Viktor knew that he had never been particularly convincing at it.  The wind blew a long curl into her face, and Viktor had an overwhelming desire to reach out and push her hair behind her ear for her.

"What is it?" he asked, to distract himself from this thought.

"You are…very different from other boys, aren't you?"  Rositza shook her head.  "Don't mind me."  She gave a little laugh and stepped away from him, sat down on the rock near the center of the clearing and absently riffled the edges of her sketchbook.  

Viktor watched her, irritated.  He wished she wouldn't do that – belittle her own feelings and perceptions the way she did.  He wished he could tell her how right she was, about so many things, and that her dreams and desires were far from stupid.  But he couldn't, for many reasons.

He sat down on the ground and leaned against the rock, just close enough so that his arm barely brushed the side of her leg.  "Have you any new drawings to show me?"

Rositza blushed slightly.  He knew that she was protective of her work, but he would have thought she would know by now how talented he thought she was.

"No," she said, looking down at her sketchbook.  "Nothing new."

Viktor looked up at her.  "What is wrong?" he asked.  She seemed…nervous today.  Different.

She squinted up at the sky, and Viktor followed her gaze.  A lone hawk circled high above and then moved out of sight.  Rositza sighed lightly.  "Nothing is wrong," she said, and the tone of her voice told him that she meant it.  She dropped her notebook to the ground, and then slid down to sit beside him.  Her arm pressed against his, and Viktor felt a little thrill shoot through him.  The rock behind him was digging into his lower back now, but he was not about to shift his position.  

Rositza kicked off her sandals and stretched her legs out before her.  Her feet were slender and white, and looked like they would be soft to the touch.

"Did you hear about that apartment fire in Smolyan?"  she asked.  "That poor little girl.  Didn't her parents teach her not to play with matches?"

Viktor gaped at her, about to ask what she was talking about, when he realized that the story would naturally have reached the Muggle press by now.  His own father had probably helped to fabricate the tale for the Muggle newspapers.  

"I…heard about it, yes."

"There have been so many fires recently," she went on.  "I don't understand it.  It hasn't been an especially dry summer."

Viktor shrugged.  He wasn't sure what to say, or if it was even safe to say anything.

"It's a pretty day," she said, looking up at the trees around them.  He nodded, watching the curve of her cheek and the way her curls bounced softly as she turned to face him.  "I am…glad that you are here," she said softly.  Her eyes caught his, and he forgot to breathe.  She dropped her gaze shyly and seemed to hesitate.  Then she leaned toward him and rested her head gently on his shoulder.

Viktor stared at her dark head, only inches from his eyes, from his _mouth.  Her hair smelled fresh, clean, like flowers, like wind.  His heart pounded in his chest, and slowly he moved his left hand and closed it over hers.  Her hand was small and cool, and he suddenly felt very large and oafish.  But she responded immediately, turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his, and Viktor wondered exactly how many nerve endings his palm possessed anyway.  He moved his thumb over the back of her hand, and Rositza sighed contentedly._

This moment was something he would always hold in his memory, he thought.  The light filtering through the trees, the breeze swaying the branches, Rositza's hair tickling his neck, her hand soft in his…this was something he would look back on as an old man and remember with perfect clarity.

A gust of wind kicked up then, and Rositza's sketchbook blew open, its pages flipping open.  Viktor leaned forward to close it with his free hand, but something on one of the pages flipping by caught his eye.  He looked quickly at Rositza, then tugged his other hand out of hers and lifted the sketchbook into his lap.  He turned the pages until he found the one he had seen.  His own face looked out to the right of the page, the profile rugged and the crooked nose perfectly captured.  

"It isn't very good," said Rositza softly.  "I did it from memory, and the chin isn't right."

He stared at the drawing.  The chin _was perhaps a little off, and the hair was longer than he wore it, but there was something about the eyes that made him wonder.  There was something deep, and almost wistful, in the way the eyes looked out to the side of the paper, as if there was more in them than could possibly be said in words.   Was this the way he looked at Rositza?_

Was this the way she _wanted_ him to look at her?  

"It is…very good," he said weakly, and looked up at her.  The expression on her face was doubtful, and he could tell by her eyes that his opinion of this was very important to her.  He cleared his throat.  "No one has ever drawn me like this before."  _No one has ever really seen _me like this before.__

Rositza smiled shyly.  "Do you really like it?"

Viktor nodded.  "Very much."

"You can have it, if you like."

Viktor frowned.  Why were people always giving him pictures of himself?  As if it wasn't bad enough to look in the mirror every day, or see the awful pictures that wound up in the magazines.  "No," he said softly.  He took her hand in his.  "Draw me one of you."

Rositza smiled tenderly at him, and her eyes went soft.  Viktor was fairly certain that the expression in his own eyes now mirrored that of the drawing.  Nonetheless it came as a surprise when she leaned in and brushed her lips against his.  The sensation was like an Energy Charm, only much more pleasant and focused.

She pulled back slightly, something uncertain in her eyes.  She settled back against the rock, but kept her hand in his, and did not look at him.  

Viktor moved back to sit beside her, confused.  

"I'm sorry," said Rositza softly.  "Maybe I should not have – "

And then Viktor understood.  He tugged his hand out of hers and raised it to stroke her hair.  Rositza turned her face up to his.  She was breathing heavily – so was he, he realized with a jolt - and her eyes were darker than usual, full of something unspoken.  Whatever it was, Viktor only saw it for a moment before her eyes dropped close, and he lowered his lips to hers.  He kissed her instinctively; her lips were soft and yielding, and his heart was pounding, and the wind blew her hair into his face.  

When they pulled apart from the kiss, Rositza smiled at him, and Viktor knew the grin on his face probably looked silly, but he could not bring himself to care.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and Rositza snuggled into his chest.  "This feels like a dream," she murmured.  "This whole thing."  She raised her head and looked at him, then curled her head into the hollow of his shoulder.  "Ever since the first time I met you.  It feels like magic."

Viktor stared down at the top of her head, a deep dread rising in him.  Why did she have to remind him of that now, when things were so…right?

Rositza sighed contentedly.  "I want you to meet my parents," she said.  She looked up at him bashfully.  "I want them to meet you.  And my sister, though she'll probably tease you."  She smiled.  "Will you come to dinner one night?"

Viktor swallowed hard.  He knew that he could not say no to this, not if he wanted to continue to see her, though every part of him knew that it was a bad idea.  He nodded.  "When?" he said, trying to sound natural.

She beamed at him.  "Friday night.  I will tell my father that we met at Eliza's shop.  She won't give it away.  And anyway she wants to meet you, so we can go there before I take you to my house."

Viktor leaned back and regarded her.  "You told her about me?" he asked, not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed by the prospect.  

Rositza looked down at their joined hands, and her thumb moved along his knuckles.  "A little."  She looked up at him.  "Will you come?"

"Friday night," he said, nodding.  Rositza smiled and leaned in to kiss him again.  Viktor kissed her back, wondering how on earth he would manage this.

~**~

The front hall of his house was dark and cool when Viktor arrived home, later than usual.

"Viktor, is that you dear?" came his mother's voice from the kitchen.  "The post has arrived, and you have quite a few letters."

Viktor crossed the house to the kitchen and leaned his Baranof against the wall by the kitchen door.  His mother stood by the window, absently patting a grey owl's head with one hand and flipping through a pile of mail with the other.  "Conrad has forwarded the latest batch of fan letters.  They are on the table."  

Viktor looked at the enormous pile on the table and groaned.  

"Now, dear, don't complain," said his mother absently.  "I've noticed that pile sitting up on your desk hasn't exactly answered itself." She looked up at him.  "Viktor, are you all right?"

"What?  Yes, I am fine."

"You look flushed."  She came over to him and laid a hand on his forehead.  "You don't feel feverish."

"I am fine, Mother."

"All right then."  She gave him a doubtful look, but returned to flipping through the pile of mail.  "Have you had a good morning?"

"Yes, Mother."  _Better than you could imagine._

"The weather has been beautiful this week," she said.  "I am thinking of putting in more of the butterfly trees on the south side of the house.  I know how much you like – oh, here is another letter for you, dear, from your friend Hermione.  You will want to read that, I am sure."  

She handed him the letter, and Viktor waited for the familiar thrill to race up his spine, but it didn't come.  He broke the seal and read the letter:

_Dear Viktor – _

_How are you?  I hope that you and your parents are doing well.  I have been worried about you, with everything that is happening.  I went and looked up the geography of __Bulgaria__, and the attacks have been close to you, haven't they?  I have to admit, I think you might be right.  What you said before we left Hogwarts, I mean.  Do you remember?  I try not to think about it too much, but it worries me.  But I don't think that anyone is really safe, not now._

_But I didn't mean to be so depressing.  I wanted to thank you for sending me that book.  You didn't have to do that - I could have bought it myself.  But thank you.  _

_Next week my parents and I are going to stay with my aunt's family in __Brighton__.  I used to look forward to it every summer, but now it will be difficult because I can't possibly take all the books I need to study for the O.W.L.s with me.  Sometimes I wish my parents were wizards, so that they could enchant my trunk for me!  But I suppose it will be all right._

_Take care of yourself._

_Hermione_

"How is your friend?" asked his mother lightly.

Viktor shrugged.  He folded the letter and put it into the pocket of his robes.  

"I am sorry, Viktor," said his mother sadly.

He looked up at her in surprise.  "Why?"

"I know that things have not worked out as you had hoped…with her."

Viktor felt himself blush.  "Mother – "

"Sometimes feelings change, and this girl was very young, yes?"

Viktor shook his head.  "Mother, no," he said.  "Hermione is a friend."

His mother eyed him doubtfully.

"Truly."  He paused, looking down.  "And I have met someone else anyway."

"Have you?  Who?"

Trying to ignore the unveiled delight in his mother's voice, Viktor took a deep breath.  "Her name is Rositza.  She lives…not far from here."  This would be vague enough to satisfy her.  "Not far from here" could mean anywhere one could Apparate without passing a checkpoint.  

His mother dropped into a chair and looked up at him with shining eyes.  "Where did you meet this young lady?"

"On the mountain, a few weeks ago."

She nodded, a knowing smile forming on her face.  "That explains your devotion to your morning flying."  Viktor blushed.  "Does she play Quidditch?"

"No," said Viktor, his stomach heavy.  But he wasn't lying, not really.  "She likes to draw.  She likes dragons."

His mother nodded.  "I see.  And when were you going to tell me about her?"

"I am telling you now."

"Viktor."  His mother's voice was serious.  "Be careful.  I don't want you to get hurt again."

Something twisted in his stomach.  "I will be careful, Mother."  He paused.  "She wants me to go to her house for dinner on Friday.  To meet her parents."

His mother's eyes lit up.  "You must invite her here," she cried.  "Your father and I will want to meet her, of course."

"Of course," repeated Viktor mechanically.  "But not yet.  First I will go to her house."  He weighed his next words carefully.  "Her parents…are Muggles.  Will you help me find something to wear?"

His mother raised her eyebrows at him.  "Another Muggle-born?"  She shook her head affectionately.  

He didn't answer.  She smiled and drew him into a hug.  "Of course I will help you, Viktor.  I am so happy for you."

Guilt touched his heart, but Viktor hugged her back.  He would figure out a way to tell her the truth later, just as he would find a way to get through the dinner on Friday night.  But right now, the most important thing was to find a way to get through the rest of the day, when all he wanted to think about was kissing Rositza.


	6. Wanting and Wondering Why

A/N: Zsenya ROX in so many ways, including but not limited to betareading and offering extensive Slavic knowledge for this chapter.  Thought you ought to know.

**Moody Slavic Man 2: Bright in an Azure Sky**

**Chapter 6: Wanting and Wondering Why**

"Are you nervous about tonight?"  Rositza turned her head toward Viktor and leaned back against his chest.

Viktor unconsciously tightened his grip on her hand.  It was the first thing she had really said since she had arrived in the clearing ten minutes earlier.  Even though he'd been allowed to kiss her for five whole days now, he still couldn't stop thinking about it.  Rositza seemed to feel the same way; when she'd arrived, she'd immediately curled up against him and raised her lips to his.

Somewhere beneath the warmth this gave him, he noted that she had not bothered to bring her notebook today.  The lack of pretense was somehow frightening.

Viktor made a low, noncommittal grunt.  This often worked with reporters.

Rositza lifted her head up and looked at him.  "Does that mean yes?"

Viktor shrugged.  She was still looking at him expectantly.  "A bit, I suppose," he finally answered.

Rositza smiled.  "It will be fine, you will see.  My mother will love you.  And you mustn't mind Manuella, she will be horrible no matter what.  And my father…"  Her face clouded briefly.  "I should warn you about my father.  He can be…irritable, sometimes.  You must not mention my drawings, he doesn't like – "  She broke off and looked away.

Viktor squeezed her hand.  "It will be fine.  I will be careful."  _I am good at keeping secrets_, he thought bitterly.

She turned back to face him, and he could see the worry behind her smile.  "I do not want you to think he is an ogre.  He just…wants the best for me."

Viktor squeezed her hand.  _Then we will have something in common, he wanted to say, but it was too much, and he couldn't._

"I suppose I am just being silly," she said with a little laugh.

"No, you're not.  Do not say that," Viktor said, with more force than he had intended.

She glanced up at him, looking surprised, and then gave him a warm smile.  She settled back against his chest once more.  Viktor bent his head and kissed the top of her head, and felt her sigh against him.  He wrapped both of his arms around her and intertwined his fingers with hers.  He wished they could just stay like this, and never leave this perfect little haven.

"What are your parents like?" Rositza asked.  "You don't talk about them much."

The tone of her voice was carefully neutral, but Viktor knew what lay beyond the question.  He knew what he had to say, knew that she had been hurt he had not said it sooner.  And he had _wanted to…why did everything have to be so complicated?_

"They are…parents," Viktor replied.  "They want the best for me, too."  Rositza nodded slightly; Viktor couldn't see her face but he could feel the tension in her body, as if she was waiting for something more.  He sighed inwardly.  He could not avoid this, and moreover, he did not want to.  "They want to meet you."

Rositza relaxed in her arms, leaning against him more fully.  "You have told them about me?"

"Yes."  Viktor tried to push down the feeling of dread that was rising in his stomach.  He couldn't help thinking about the last time he had invited a girl to meet his parents, and how disastrously that had gone.  _But Rositza is different_, said his brain stubbornly.  _Yes, he told it, __and that is part of the problem._

He cleared his throat.  "Perhaps next week."

Rositza twisted around and kissed his cheek.  "I would like that," she whispered, and he shivered slightly at the sensation of her breath on his skin.  He turned his head and met her lips.  It didn't matter, he realized – whatever he had to say, whatever he had to do, she was worth it, and he would keep her.

~**~

Viktor was less certain of that as he made his way down the path to the village that evening, feeling ridiculous in Muggle trousers and a shapeless jacket that his mother had found somewhere.  He felt awkward and naked, without robes, and his wand, which had been thrust into the jacket's inner pocket, kept poking him in the side.  

But then he saw Rositza, standing under the enormous oak tree where they had agreed to meet.  She wore a long dress of dark blue, almost the exact color of her eyes, and her hair was pulled back in two clips.  Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes shone.

She took a few nervous steps forward when she saw him.  Her eyes swept over his clothing, and a look of relief passed over her face.  She smiled and caught his hands in hers.

He squeezed her hands, suddenly feeling very awkward.  He didn't know what the rules were, outside of their clearing on the mountaintop.  Was he allowed to kiss her here?

She leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips.  "I am glad you came."

Viktor frowned.  "Did you think that I would not?"

Rositza laughed.  "Yes, you know, you might have used your magical ghostly powers and disappeared, and then I would have woken up and found it all to be a dream."

She laughed again and turned to lead him toward the village.  Viktor did not laugh; that hadn't been funny.

Rositza glanced at him.  "Are you all right?"

Viktor nodded.

"Do not be nervous.  Everything will be fine.  We will visit Eliza first.  She will adore you."

She led him down the dirt road to the village.  It was strange to see the buildings up close – they had always seemed so small and crowded when he looked down from the mountaintop.  The buildings were mostly low and scattered, and they passed a small church and a few shops.  There were few people outside, but as they passed two old women outside a shop, Rositza called a greeting to them.

"Eliza's shop is just down here," said Rositza, leading him off the main road.  She stopped at a grungy-looking wooden building.  "It doesn't look like much from out here," said Rositza apologetically.  "Eliza always says that it is what is on the inside that matters."

Viktor followed her up a short flight of steps and through the door.

"Eliza?" Rositza called.  Viktor looked around the shop.  Inside, it was dim and dusty, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.  When they did, he became aware of the rows of vases and pots lining the walls, ranging from thick clay pots on the bottom shelves to delicately thrown vases on the upper shelves.

"Just a moment," came a dry, dusty voice from the back of the shop; it seemed to fit this place perfectly.  

A vase on a corner shelf caught Viktor's eye, and he dropped Rositza's hand and went over to look at it more closely.  The vase itself was bone-white, but the impression of a dragon had been made on the front of it.  The dragon was lined in blue, and its wings stood out from the sides of the vase.

"Yes, our Rositza designed that one," said a voice right behind him, and Viktor turned to see a tiny old woman who could only be Eliza.  Her personality seemed to fill the tiny shop, despite her small stature, just the way Rositza had described.  "You must be Viktor," she said, her eyes twinkling.  She extended one gnarled hand, which he shook; the other rested on a wooden cane beside her.  Viktor marveled that such old crooked hands could have created the many beautiful things around this shop.  Perhaps there was a kind of magic in the things Muggles did after all.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," said Viktor.

Eliza raised her eyebrows at Rositza.  "He is polite," she said approvingly.  She turned back to Viktor.  "But you must call me Eliza."

Viktor nodded.  "Your work is beautiful, just as Rositza described it," he said.  He looked at Rositza.  "You never told me that you designed some of them."

Rositza shrugged.  Eliza laughed, and the sound was surprisingly melodious considering how dusty her voice sounded.  "She does not like to brag.  She is very modest, you know."  She looked fondly at Rositza.  "But she will be a famous artist one day.  She has so much talent."

Rositza was blushing furiously now, but she looked extremely pleased.  Viktor felt pride swell within him.  "Yes, she is," he said quietly.  

Eliza gave him an approving look.  

"Stop it, both of you," said Rositza unconvincingly.  Eliza grinned at Viktor.

"Don't listen to her," she said.  "Come along, I will give you the grand tour."  She slipped her arm into his, and showed him around the shop, stopping to point out vases and pots that Rositza had designed, or had done detail work on.  And she showed him the large blue pot at the back of the shop that held Rositza's "University Fund".

"She will have her chance, no matter what that father of hers says," Eliza said conspiratorially.  "Just you wait.  Our girl has talent."

_Our girl_.  The words hit him, and Viktor realized that they had not been chosen lightly.  He glanced up at Rositza, who was standing near the front of the shop.  She gave him a beautiful smile.

He was beginning to think that this part of the evening was the more important, that no matter what her family thought of him, it would be Eliza's approval that mattered. Well, it seemed he had passed.

"Eliza," called Rositza, "we must go now.  My family is waiting."

"All right, all right."  The old woman led Viktor to the front of the shop and relinquished his arm.  She stepped close to Rositza.  "He is very handsome," she said in a loud whisper.  "I like a strong nose on a man."

It was Viktor's turn to blush now.  But Rositza only laughed and took his hand, and he mumbled an awkward goodbye to Eliza before they left the shop.

They walked down the narrow street in silence for a few minutes. 

"She liked you," Rositza said quietly.

"She seems very nice," said Viktor.  He wasn't sure why, but he had immediately liked the old woman.  Perhaps it was her laughing eyes, or perhaps it was the way she had looked at Rositza, as though she saw how special she was.

"Eliza is wonderful," said Rositza warmly.  She swung their joined hands back and forth.  "I hope you like my parents."

_I hope they like me_, thought Viktor.  He felt his palms grow sweaty with nerves, and he wiped his free hand on his jacket.  

Rositza's house was not far from the shop, around a bend in the dirt road. There were a handful of small houses scattered in the shadow of the trees on the slopes above, each surrounded by a wooden fence.  Rositza opened the gate in front of a narrow brown house and gave him a shy look.  "This is my house," she said.

It seemed small, to Viktor's eyes, but it fit Rositza somehow.  The shuttered windows and vegetable plots scattering the yard seemed ordinary enough, but there was an air of something quiet and special underneath.  Perhaps it only seemed that way, because he knew Rositza lived there.

He followed her to the door, and when they got inside, she slipped off her shoes and stepped into a pair of blue slippers.  "Those are for you," she said, indicating another pair of slippers lined up against the wall.  Viktor was confused for a moment, but then he saw the dirt and dust on the mat, and realized that of course Muggles wouldn't have Scouring Charms to take care of that sort of thing.  He bent down and removed his shoes and put on the slippers.

Rositza gave him a nervous smile and squeezed his hand.  "Mother!  Father!" she called.  "We are here."

She led him toward the back of the house, but before they had gone very far, a small figure darted out of a side room, nearly tripping him.

"Manuella!" Rositza scolded.  "Be careful."

The little girl, who looked about eight or nine years old, stopped and looked up at Viktor. She had the same dark hair as Rositza, but her eyes were darker and her chin more pointed.  She looked pointedly at Rositza and Viktor's joined hands, and her face split into a smug grin.  "Mama!" she called loudly.  "Rositza's brought her _boyfriend."_

Rositza flushed.  "I warned you," she muttered to Viktor.

Viktor sympathized with her, but he was suddenly very glad that he had no brothers and sisters.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, and Viktor caught a glimpse of the kitchen behind it before a woman emerged.  She was tall and moved with a quiet grace; that, combined with her dark hair and deep blue eyes, made Viktor feel as though he was looking at a future version of Rositza.

Rositza dropped his hand and stepped forward.  "Mother, this is Viktor Krum."

Rositza's mother took his hand.  "It is a pleasure to meet you, Viktor.  We are so glad you could come tonight."  It was still satisfying, somehow, the complete lack of recognition shown at his name.

"Thank you for having me," replied Viktor politely.

The kitchen door swung open again, and a man stepped out.  He was slightly shorter than Rositza's mother, with thinning dark hair and small, close-set dark eyes.  

"Papa, this is Viktor."

Viktor held his breath as the man swept his eyes over his Muggle clothes; he sensed that he was being judged, and he was not at all sure that he would pass this time.

Finally Rositza's father nodded and thrust out a hand.  "Pleased to meet you," he said, but Viktor had the feeling that this greeting was begrudgingly given, and had only been offered because of Rositza's expectant eyes upon her father.  

"And you have already met Manuella," said Rositza quickly, turning to Viktor.  "Mother, is the food ready?"

"Yes, yes, let's sit down," said Rositza's mother.  "Manuella, come help me carry dishes."

Manuella did not look at all pleased with this, and she began to complain as she followed her mother, but her voice was lost as the kitchen door swung shut behind her.

Rositza's father turned without a word and went into another room.  Rositza threw Viktor an apologetic look as she took his arm and began to follow.  They crossed through a small sitting area to a cluttered dining room.  Rositza's father was already seated at the head of the table.  

"Sit here," said Rositza softly, indicating a chair near the other end of the table.  He did, and was relieved when she sat down next to him.

There was an awkward silence in the room.  Viktor had the strong feeling that Rositza's father had already decided to dislike him, and that nothing he said would make a difference.  He struggled to find something to say, but could think of nothing.  This was definitely not his strength.  If only Pashnik were here – he would know how to break this strange silence, to turn it into laughter.

Rositza's mother came in then, carrying a large platter of stuffed cabbage**.  Manuella followed with a bowl of tarator, still looking pouty.  The air of the room seemed to grow lighter, friendlier.**

"I hope you like Sarmi, Viktor," said Rositza's mother.

"Very much," replied Viktor.  It happened to be true, but his mother had told him to say this no matter what they served.

"I asked Rositza what your favorite dish was, but she said she didn't know."

"We only really see each other in Eliza's shop, Mother," said Rositza quickly.  Viktor was amazed at the way she raised her head and said this so calmly, as if it were absolute truth.  She could lie well, when she wanted to.  He did not know whether to be impressed or disturbed by that fact.  "I have never seen him eat before.  You do eat, don't you?" She turned to Viktor with an amused twinkle in her eye.  He wondered how she could joke so, with her father glaring down the table in their direction.  She too had a secret here.  _Though not as dangerous as mine._

Rositza's mother laughed as she finished serving the food, and then her father said the blessing.  It grew quiet as they began to eat.  The food was quite good, but Viktor felt he could not enjoy it; he was too much on edge.  Manuella sat across from him, and she kept looking up at him as though cataloging him for items with which to tease Rositza later.  

"I have not seen you in the village before," said Rositza's father, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Viktor glanced at Rositza.  "My home is on the other side of the mountain."

Rositza's father gave him a hard, penetrating look.  "That's a long walk."

"I suppose."

"Viktor's mother is fond of Eliza's pottery," Rositza cut in smoothly.  "You know how far people come to buy it, Papa."

Her father gave a slight shrug and went back to his meal.  Viktor gave Rositza a grateful look.  

"What do your parents do, Viktor?"  asked Rositza's mother.

Viktor felt a bubble of panic rising in him.  He had no idea how to answer that question in a way that would seem normal to Muggles.  He wished fervently that he had told his mother the truth about where he was going tonight - he was not prepared for this.  He glanced at Rositza, hoping for some help, but she was looking at him, as if interested in the answer herself.

"My mother does not work," he said.  "And my father – "  He struggled for an answer, racked his brain for anything he had ever read about Muggle occupations.  The only thing that came out, however, was the truth.  "My father works for the Ministry."

There was a long silence, which was broken by a snort from Rositza's father.  "Government," he said derisively, as if that explained something.

The meal continued in the same vein, Rositza's mother asking polite questions and Viktor struggling to find acceptable responses.  When she asked him about his football team, he stumbled through a made-up explanation, but felt certain he had stumbled when he referred to multiple balls.  But Rositza's mother graciously moved the conversation along, while her father's glares made Viktor ever more uncomfortable.

"Where is your house, exactly?" asked Rositza's father, at a pause in her mother's questions.

Viktor shifted uncomfortably. "On the other side of the mountain, as I said."

"In the valley?"

Viktor glanced at Rositza, wondering if he should lie.  He was not nearly as good at it as she was.  "No," he said.  "On the mountainside, about halfway up.  My mother liked the view there."

Rositza's father narrowed his eyes, but it was Manuella's voice that spoke next.  "In the forest?" she asked, her eyes wide.  "With the ghosts?"  She looked truly impressed.

"There are no ghosts there," Viktor replied.  That much, at least, was entirely true.  He'd once seen a stray Pogrebin up there, but that was all.  

"No," said Rositza's father in a musing sort of way.  "No ghosts."  His eyes were locked on Viktor.

Rositza's mother cleared her throat.  "Are you ready for dessert, Viktor?  We have some lovely chocolate cake."

"I'll get it, dear," said Rositza's father immediately.  "You stay here."  He picked up Rositza's and Manuella's empty plates and stacked them on top of his.  "Viktor will help me."

Viktor hesitated, then took Rositza's mother's plate and his own and followed him toward the kitchen.  Rositza flashed him a brilliant smile, as if this was proof that her father liked him after all, but he was too nervous to smile back.

The kitchen door swung shut behind him, and Viktor put the plates down on the counter.  Before he could turn around, however, Rositza's father had grabbed the front of his shirt.

"What exactly do you plan to do with my daughter?" he hissed, his face inches from Viktor's.

"I – I don't know what you are talking about," stammered Viktor.  Were all Muggle parents this protective of their daughters?

"You know damn well what I'm talking about.  I know what you are.  I know about you mountain people and your rituals.  If you think Rositza is going to be some kind of sacrifice, you can think again.  I'll kill you with my bare hands first."

"I – what?"

Rositza's father laughed, and there was a slightly hysterical edge to the sound.  "You think it's all secret, what you do up there, do you?  You think you've fooled us all down here.  Simple village folk, you think we are.  Well, I've see it, and none of your mind tricks will change that."

"What…what did you see?"

Rositza's father shoved him backwards and gave him a disgusted look.  "I was only a child then.  A child, making up stories, they said.  They told me I was crazy, so I stopped talking about it, and then they left me alone.  But I know what I saw.  That girl, the one they said was mauled by wild wolves, it was you people who did it.  I saw it.  I don't what kind of magic tricks you people used on her, but I saw the green light and then she was dead.  But I got away.  That's it, isn't it?  I got away, and now you people want to punish me by hurting Rositza.  Well, I _won't allow it.  I know what you are."_

Viktor stared at the man's flashing eyes.  _He means it, he thought.  He would readily kill Viktor where he stood.  And he __knew—somehow, inexplicably, he _knew_ about the wizarding world.  The Ministry had never gotten to him, to a small boy who had escaped a Memory Charm.  And what had he seen?  Death Eaters, no doubt.  He would never believe that wizards could be good, after seeing that._

Viktor's eyes darted to the door.  Rositza was right on the other side of it, and if her father told her…

He had to get to his wand.  

Bracing his legs against the counter behind him, Viktor shoved himself forward, breaking the other man's grip on his shirt.  Rositza's father fell backward into a chair with a clatter.  In one smooth motion, Viktor pulled his wand from the inner pocket of his jacket.  "_Obliviate_," he said quietly.

Rositza's father sat up and shook his head, looking confused.  It had worked.

"Viktor, is everything –"

Rositza was there in the doorway.  Her gaze traveled over the overturned chair, her father sitting in a heap on the floor, and then to Viktor, who still held his wand.    

Viktor froze, paralyzed by the hurt and confusion in her eyes.  His brain had stopped working, and panic took over.

He twisted his wand and Disapparated.


	7. Soul for a Compass

Author's Note:  If you have not read "Sleeping Dragons", cowritten with Jedi Boadicea, which takes place between Chapter 6 and this chapter, some things here may not make sense (such as why Ivan's here).  You might want to read that first: 

(Besides, it's a fun story!)

Thank you to Jedi Boadicea, super-betareader!

Chapter Seven: Soul for a Compass

When Viktor dragged himself down to the kitchen on the morning of August the first, Ivan and Edina were already up.  He could hear Ivan's enthusiastic voice and his mother's laughter all the way upstairs.  

"He emerges from his cave," said Ivan, when Viktor paused in the kitchen doorway.  The remains of a large breakfast were on the table before them; they'd clearly been awake for some time.  Viktor wondered how he could have slept through the noise they were making.

"Good morning, dear," said Viktor's mother.  "Come sit down and eat something.  Ivan and Edina were just telling me about the wedding plans.  It sounds like it's going to be lovely."  She beamed at Edina, who gave her a shy smile.

Viktor entered the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.  He wasn't up to much more than that – the smell of bacon permeating the room was making him queasy.  He glanced at Ivan, who was now chattering on to Viktor's mother about some band called Kelpies in the Well that was to play at the reception, and wondered how on earth he could be so animated.  Viktor's head was heavy, and his limbs felt ungainly.  He never should have let that dragon keeper talk him in to trying one of those trailcakes.  He'd felt light as a feather on his broomstick last night, but now it was as if his legs were made of concrete.

Viktor sat down and took a long drink of water.  As he set his glass down, Edina caught his eye and gave him a sympathetic smile.  Now that he looked closely, he could see that her eyes seemed tired.  He tried to remember if she'd eaten any of the funny cakes, but couldn't – it had all been a haze of wind rushing and night sky once they'd gotten back to the pitch and found the practice brooms.  He only vaguely remembered coming home.  Viktor groaned, suddenly remembering that he had to go to practice in a few hours.  He only hoped that all the practice brooms had been put away properly; he could imagine Boyar's rage if they'd been misused.

"What is it, dear?  Are you feeling all right?" said Viktor's mother.

Ivan gave him a conspiratorial grin from the other side of the table, and Viktor nodded.  "I am fine," he mumbled.  "Just tired."

"It was a long night," said Ivan seriously.  "I am afraid we kept Viktor up late, and made him show us all of our favorite Quidditch moves."  He turned to Viktor's mother.  "Thank you again for letting us stay here."

"Of course," she replied.  "You were all so tired, and I did not want you getting Splinched.  Not so close to your wedding, anyway." She smiled, and Viktor was surprised to see that it was a truly genuine smile, not the false cheerfulness that she had been displaying ever since he'd come home from Hogwarts.  

Edina laughed and nudged Ivan.  "You did give Viktor his invitation, didn't you?"

Ivan looked affronted.  "I hadn't forgotten."  He reached into his robes and pulled out a large envelope.  "Here you are.  Of course you're coming – you're best man, so you have to.  But here it is, to make it official."

He passed the envelope across the table to Viktor, who took it and opened it.  The invitation was surprisingly tasteful, considering Ivan was involved; a photograph of Ivan and Edina filled the top portion, and little twinkling lights ran along the outside border.  The Ivan in the photograph kept giving Edina bunny ears, and Edina kept turning around to smack him.  The information about the wedding was written underneath in flowing golden script.

"Oh, let me see," said his mother eagerly, and Viktor passed it to her.

"You picked out the invitations?" Viktor said to Edina.  

She grinned.  "Ivan wanted something that would shower you with confetti when you opened the envelope, but I talked him out of it."

"I still think it would have been funny," said Ivan.  "Especially for my Great-Aunt Mila.  That woman wouldn't know a joke if it bit her in the – "

"Your last name is Pashnik?" interrupted Viktor's mother in a low voice.

Viktor looked at her in surprise.  She was gripping the invitation tightly, her narrowed eyes fixed on Ivan; Viktor could see the Ivan and Edina in the photograph pause and look up at her.  

"Yes," replied Ivan, his usual joking manner gone, and something like wariness in its place.  Edina put a hand on his arm, but he ignored her.  Viktor looked back and forth between Ivan and his mother, wondering what was going on.

His mother took a deep breath and looked down at the invitation again.  "You are Fedor's son," she said quietly.  

"Yes," replied Ivan, in a flat tone.

"I knew your father," said Viktor's mother, placing the invitation carefully on the table.  She smoothed the parchment, and the crackling sound of it seemed to fill the otherwise silent kitchen.  

Ivan gave a dry cough.  "My father and I are very different," he said, staring down at the invitation.  "We – don't always get along.  We disagree on…many things."

Viktor glanced at Edina, but her eyes were fixed on Ivan, her hand still on his arm.  

Viktor's mother looked up and met Ivan's eyes.  Neither of them spoke for a long moment, and then: "I can see that," she said.  She glanced at Viktor, then looked back at Ivan and gave a tiny nod.  She folded up the invitation and handed it back to Viktor.  "Here you are, dear.  You'll want to save that," she said in a light tone, as if the previous oddness had never happened.

Viktor accepted it uncertainly.  He had the feeling that everyone here knew what was going on except for him.

"Why don't you boys go out for a fly?" said Viktor's mother, her voice now full of the false cheerfulness that had become so familiar to him in the past weeks.  "Edina and I can have a bit of girl talk.  I want to hear all about your dress, dear."

"That sounds good, don't you think, Viktor?" said Ivan, his face and voice enthusiastic once more.  

Viktor nodded mutely and went to get the brooms.  When he came back downstairs, Ivan and Edina were in the hallway kissing.  He cleared his throat to let them know he was there.

They broke apart at once.  Ivan looked sheepish, Edina genuinely embarrassed.  "Have fun, you two," she said quickly, and disappeared back into the kitchen.  

Viktor waited until they were outside before he tried to question Ivan.  "What was that all about?" he asked.

"Well, you know, Viktor, when two people are going to get married – "

"Not that," said Viktor sharply.  "In the kitchen.  With my mother."

The look of discomfort that flitted over Ivan's face was so quick that Viktor wondered if he imagined it.  "Well, you know," he said, "my father had something of a reputation back at school.  Ladies' man.  The natural Pashnik magnetism, nothing to be done about it."

"I thought you said that you and your father are very different."

Ivan's grin flickered.  "Some things run in the family.  Some don't."  He mounted his broom and hovered a few feet over Viktor's head.  "Come on, Viktor, this day is too nice to be spending it on the ground.  Show me the good flying spots on these mountains."

Viktor decided to let the matter drop.  He was a bit intrigued by the idea of Ivan having any kind of secret; he wouldn't have thought him capable of it.  But there were lots of reasons for not wanting to talk about it.  Viktor could understand that; he certainly had his own share of topics he'd rather not discuss.

And so Viktor led Ivan over the mountain, showing him the best places to practice spirals through the trees, and the tall rocky cliff where loose rocks sometimes scuttled down and offered ideal practice Snitches.  

They were over the clearing before he'd even realized it; it was as if his broom had led him there out of habit, or sympathy with his subconscious.  He paused in mid-air and looked down at the empty clearing, his heart constricting.

It had been five days since that disastrous confrontation in Rositza's kitchen.  Five days since he'd disappeared, run away from the hurt and confusion in her eyes.  He'd tried to tell himself, again and again, that staying away was the right thing to do, but he knew it was only cowardice that motivated him, deep down.  He knew that he should at least go back and put a Memory Charm on her, to make her forget what she'd seen.  But the thought of facing her was too much.  He could only imagine how it must have looked from her perspective, and he doubted she would ever speak to him again, if he even tried to approach her.  

Ivan hovered beside him.  "What are we looking at?"

"Nothing," said Viktor quickly.  "There's a nice beech copse down there, but we should probably get back."

But Ivan's eyes were narrowed, and his face was screwed up in a thoughtful expression that Viktor recognized as a prelude to teasing.  "I know that look," Ivan said slowly.  "I know exactly what's going on here."

Viktor snapped his head up, alarmed.

"There's a girl involved," said Ivan sagely.  "I told Edina so.  And she said something…now what was it?  Ah yes, I'm not supposed to tease you about it."  He grinned broadly.

Viktor groaned and nudged his broomstick higher, but Ivan followed.  "What is it?  Trouble in paradise?"

Viktor glanced quickly at him.  "It's not _that bad.  It is nothing."_

Ivan laughed.  "Of course.  That is why you have been grumpier than usual ever since we got here.  I _know it can't be my sparkling personality."  _

Viktor grunted.

Ivan sighed.  "It can't be as bad as all that.  Whatever it is, just talk to her.  Whoever she is."  This last sentence was quite pointed.

Viktor sighed.  "Her name is Rositza," he mumbled.

Ivan grinned.  "Now, see, was that so hard?  When will we get to meet her?  Are you going to bring her to the wedding?  You'd be surprised how many problems can be solved by putting on dress robes and going to a formal event."

Viktor shook his head.  He doubted Rositza would even speak to him again, let alone go anywhere with him.  How would she ever be able to trust him?  "Just because everything's worked out for you, that doesn't mean everyone else is happy too," he snapped, surprising himself.

Viktor caught a glimpse of abrupt hurt in his face before Ivan turned his head and nudged his broomstick downward.

Viktor immediately felt guilty.  "Ivan – "

"We should go back now.  Edina promised her mother she'd be home before noon."

Viktor sighed and followed Ivan back to the house.  By the time they got there, however, Ivan was talking and laughing as if Viktor hadn't said a thing.  After he and Edina had said goodbye to Viktor's mother, Ivan waited for Edina to Disapparate, then leaned forward and punched Viktor's shoulder lightly.  "Just go talk to her," he said in a low voice.  "Trust me, whatever happened, it will make things better."  And then he was gone.

Viktor shook his head.  Pashnik was a strange fellow, and discovering the layers hidden underneath the joking exterior did not make him less so.

"What was that about?" asked his mother.

Viktor turned to her.  "Nothing."

She nodded, clearly not believing him.  He was about to ask her about the odd exchange she'd had with Ivan at breakfast, when she said, "Viktor, dear, hadn't you better get ready for practice?  You don't want to be late."  Glancing at the clock and seeing the hands pointing to "Better hurry up!", he realized she was right.  In his hurry to get changed, all thoughts of the morning's mystery were pushed from his mind.

He didn't think of it again until Boyar called a break in practice later that morning.  Almost as soon as he'd dismounted from his broom, Susannah appeared at his side.

"Odd about all that dragon business, don't you think?" she asked lightly.

He glanced sideways at her.  She had been acting perfectly normal around him lately, enough so that he had almost forgotten his suspicions from the beginning of the season, but the measured casualness of her tone now put him on guard.  

He nodded.  "The dragon people seemed to have it under control."

"That is good," replied Susannah, examining her broomstick handle.  "Did your friends enjoy the adventure?"  She put the slightest weight on the word "friends".

Viktor's stomach clenched.  What was that supposed to mean?  "I suppose so," he replied evenly.  "They've gone home now."

He felt Susannah relax slightly beside him, and he glanced at her sharply.  

"You should be careful," she said, "who you spend your time with."

"What?"

She gave him a piercing look.  "You should be careful," she repeated slowly.  Viktor clenched his fist around his broom handle.  Had his suspicions been correct?  Was she…threatening Ivan and Edina?  He stared at her, and her stature seemed to grow, her bright hair and pale face to become menacing, even in the sunlight of the Quidditch pitch.

And then the picture was shattered as she gave a little laugh and tapped him on the shoulder with her broom.  "Famous Viktor Krum, you know.  Hard to know who your real friends are.  You've got to be careful."  

He nodded uncertainly.  

"Now come on, I need a glass of water before Conrad the slave-master sends up back up there."

~**~

Viktor had every intention of spending the afternoon reading, but now that Ivan and Edina had gone home, and there was no dragon to keep him occupied, he became aware of just how empty his hours had become without thoughts of Rositza to fill them.  Ivan's words kept going through his head.  _"Just go talk to her…Trust me, whatever happened, it will make things better."_   But Ivan didn't know, couldn't know, how bad it had been.  How could Viktor ever explain?  He couldn't, that was the problem.  That had been the problem from the beginning.  She would never understand.

Or would she?  He remembered her face, the morning she had first shown him her drawings.  _"I know it's silly, but…sometimes I want it to be real so much that it hurts, like an ache in my heart,"  she'd said.__  "The dragons, the magic…all of it."   He remembered a study he'd read once, done by an American wizard, that postulated that some Muggles were more sensitive to the presence of magic around them than others, and were of a disposition to accept it.  A tiny flame of hope started up in Viktor's heart.  Wasn't it possible that Rositza was one of them?  Artists and writers were supposed to be more likely to accept magic than the other Muggles…surely Rositza would not be as closed-minded as the other Muggles.  As her father._

And besides, he told himself, if she didn't believe it he could always Memory Charm her.  He knew that was what he should have done right away, but he was reluctant, now that he cared about her.  Now that, impossibly, she seemed to care about him.  To trust him.  

It was this thought that decided him.  He owed her an explanation.  He owed her more than an unexplained disappearance, at least.  

He Apparated at the top of the mountain path twenty minutes later.  Tucking his wand into the pocket of his jacket, he wished fervently that he had more Muggle clothes.  He wasn't sure that going to her in the same clothes he had worn last Friday night was a good idea, but it was all he had; he couldn't very well wander through Pupgorodok in his robes.  

It was late afternoon – she would probably be in Eliza's shop.  Perhaps he could catch her as she left to go home.  Viktor found himself reluctant to talk to anyone else, to be seen by anyone else.  He had no idea what she had told anyone.  For all he knew, rumors of him attacking her father had spread through the village by now.

And so he hovered by a large tree near the shop, watching the door.  The day was clear and bright, and a few people went in and out of the shop, but no one spoke to him.  After an hour, he was beginning to feel foolish, and would have left, had he not been sure he had seen a slim dark-haired figure through the dusty shop windows.  He told himself that he was being silly, that he should just go in and talk to her.  But the thought of her rejecting him in front of other people was too much to bear.  If she was going to refuse to listen to him, better that it be in private.

The shop door opened then, and a couple, clearly tourists, came out, each carrying a large bag.  Eliza followed, giving them directions to the market in broken English.  The couple departed, and, as they made their way down the path, Eliza's eyes fell on Viktor.  Her face grew serious for a moment, and then she gave him a slight smile and disappeared back into the shop.

Viktor's stomach twisted nervously.  He should probably go.  But before he could even think about moving his feet, Rositza was there on the porch.  Her hair was pulled back, and her dress was covered by a long white apron that was smudged with dirt, but her face shone with relief at seeing him.  She'd never looked so beautiful.

God, he had missed her.

Rositza ran down the steps and over to him, but stopped short of touching him.  She looked up at him shyly.  "You came back," she said.

He nodded.  This was not at all what he had expected.  He'd expected her to be angry, confused, but certainly not relieved and happy.

"I am so sorry," she said earnestly.  "My father should not have – "

"Sorry?" said Viktor at last, finding his voice.  "Why – there is nothing for you to be sorry about."

Rositza shook her head, her eyes on the ground.  "My father, he attacked you, didn't he?  He pretends not to know what happened, but I know him."  She looked up at him.  "You ran out so quickly I couldn't even apologize for him.  I thought I would never see you again."

Viktor stared at her in disbelief.  "I Disapparated," he said.

Rositza laughed nervously.  "Yes, you disappeared.  I don't blame you.  But you ran out the door without even taking your shoes.  I still have them." She smiled, her eyes sad.  "But I tried to follow you, and you were already out of sight.  You run very fast."

Viktor laid a hand against the trunk of the tree to steady himself.  He had never expected this.  _She's just like the rest of them_, said a nasty voice in the back of his brain.  _They make up explanations for what they can't understand.  Had he been so wrong, thinking she was one of the special ones?  Maybe he should just agree with her, let her think it was all perfectly normal, and walk away._

_No._  He had seen her drawings, had seen how much she yearned for the magical world.  And he saw the look in her eyes now, saw that they were begging him to stay.

He took a deep breath.  "I didn't run away," he said slowly.  "I Disapparated.  With this."  He pulled out his wand and held it up.

Recognition flickered in Rositza's eyes, and she looked at him uncertainly.  _So she does remember_, he thought.  

"What is that?" she asked, her voice strained.

"My wand," he replied.  "A magic wand."

Rositza took a small step backwards and gave him a suspicious look.  "Who are you?"

"I am Viktor Krum," he said.  "And I am…a wizard."

There was hurt in her eyes now.  "Is this some kind of joke?  Are you trying to get back at me for the things my father – "

"It is not a joke," said Viktor softly, putting a hand on her arm.  She flinched, and he removed it quickly.  "It is true, Rositza.  Magic is real, and I am a wizard."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth set in a frown.  "Show me some magic then," she challenged.  

"Here?"

"Why not?"

Viktor looked around hesitantly.  "We are not supposed to do magic where Muggles can see."

"Muggles?"  Rositza lifted her eyebrows.

"Non-magic people," he explained, feeling unaccountably apologetic about it.

Rositza raised her chin.  "Like me."

Viktor shrugged.  "Like many people."

"So we're not good enough to learn how to do this magic of yours, I suppose?"

Viktor shook his head.  This wasn't going well at all.  "It is not like that.  You are either born magical or you are not."

Rositza's face was full of doubt.  He knew he would have to show her some magic, if he wanted her to believe him.  He looked around again.  There was no one on the road, and Eliza was safely inside the shop.  

"Look at that rock over there," he muttered, pointed to a stone a little larger than a man's fist that sat by the edge of the porch.  Rositza turned to look at it, the set of her shoulders still disbelieving.  Viktor pointed his wand at the stone.  "_Mobilisilex," he said, and the stone lifted a few inches in the air, moved across the grass, and came to rest at Rositza's feet._

She didn't look at him, only stared at the stone, so Viktor pointed his wand at it  again.  "_Mutare Flos_."  The stone contracted, and its hard lines resolved themselves into a blue flower.  Viktor picked up the flower and offered it to Rositza.

She reached out uncertainly and touched it.  "That is impossible," she said.

"No, it is not," he replied softly.  He pushed the flower into her hand, and she took it now, still gazing at it with a timid air.  "It is real, Rositza.  I am sorry that I could not tell you before."

She looked up at him, and her eyes were dark now.  "Why did you come here?" she asked, her voice surprisingly harsh.  "What do you want with me?"

"I wanted to see you," said Viktor, bewildered.  Why did she _think_ he had come?  "I – "  _I have never met anyone like you_.  The words stuck in his throat.

But Rositza must have understood the sentiment anyway, because her eyes softened.   "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Would you have believed me?"

Rositza smiled.  "I suppose not.  I am not sure I do now, except that…"  She looked away.  "What happened?  That night, with my father.  What really happened?"

"Before I left?"

"Before you _disappeared_."  She looked at him sharply.  

So she did remember after all.  "He…knew about the wizarding world.  He said that if I didn't stay away from you, he would…"  Viktor swallowed hard and met Rositza's eyes.  "I had to put a Memory Charm on him, make him forget."

Rositza nodded.  "That is why he says he does not remember what happened."

"He doesn't remember.  Any of it."

Rositza was silent for a long moment.  "And now you've told me this, will you have to…do that to me?"

Viktor looked at her seriously.  "Not if you promise to keep it secret.  I am telling you this because I trust you."

Rositza smiled.  "I promise."

Viktor nodded and put his wand away.  

"Why didn't you tell me this that night, instead of disappearing?"

Viktor couldn't meet her eyes.  "I panicked.  I did not expect your father to…and I did not think you would believe it."

To his surprise, Rositza reached up and laid a hand on his cheek.  "You should not have worried."

He looked at her.  Her face was only a few inches away from his, and her eyes were soft.  "Then you are not…angry, about the Memory Charm?"

Rositza laughed.  "Actually, I should thank you.  My father has been most pleasant this past week."  Viktor smiled.  He lifted his hands to her waist and leaned toward her, closing his eyes – 

"As long as you never do it to me, everything will be fine."

Viktor froze.  Rositza looked up at him in confusion.  "What is it, Viktor?"  And then her eyes narrowed.  She removed her hand from his cheek and took a step backwards.  "You _haven't ever done that to me, have you?"_

Viktor straightened up and took his hands from her waist.  He should have known he would have to tell her, sooner or later.  "Once," he said shortly.  "The first time we met."

Rositza's mouth set into a firm, angry line, and Viktor found himself hurrying to explain.  "You were in the clearing, and you saw me flying on my broomstick, and I had to – "

"You fly on a broomstick?"

"Yes."

"Go on."

"You would not have understood.  You would have run back to the village and told everyone.  I could not let you do that."

Rositza's chin tilted up defiantly.  "So you made me forget it instead.  What _right do you have to do that?"_

"I had to."

Rositza was breathing heavily now.  "So why did you come back then?  Why not just make me forget and then run away.  You seem to be good at that."

Her words stung, but Viktor tried not to answer angrily.  He knew this could not be easy for her, knew it was unfair to expect her to accept this news too readily.  Knew that her words were not untrue.  "I wanted to see you again," he mumbled, looking down at his hands.  "I wanted to know you."

Rositza didn't answer, and, after a long moment, he forced himself to look up at her.  The expression on her face was pained, but there was something else in it.  She wanted to believe him, he realized.  She cared about him too.

Hesitantly, he reached up to touch her hair.  "Rositza, I – "

She closed her hand over his.  "Don't," she said softly, but her touch on his hand was soft, gentle.  She took another step backwards and let go of his hand.  "I need…some time.  This is a lot to hear, all at once.  Just…give me some time."

Viktor nodded, heart heavy.  Rositza turned and started to walk back toward the shop, but after a few steps, she paused.  "Viktor."

He raised his head.  "Yes?"

"Meet me in the clearing tomorrow morning.  We will talk more then."  She turned around to face him.  "Will that be all right?"

Viktor smiled, a sudden lightness washing over him.  "Yes."

Rositza's face remained grave, but the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.  "I will see you tomorrow then."  She lifted the blue flower in a kind of wave, and then turned and disappeared into the shop.


	8. Hard Enough Life

Author's Note:  Many many thanks to Zsenya, who insisted she knew "nothing about Russian or Hungarian weddings", yet somehow managed to come up with 3 pages of fun facts and details.  She knows so much it's almost scary sometimes.  Many thanks also go to Jedi Boadicea, the speedy, for betareading.

Chapter Eight: Hard Enough Life

Viktor didn't sleep well that night; he kept falling into dark half-dreams whose contents he forgot each time he jolted awake.  The last time this happened, the first rays of the sun were peeking through his window, and he decided to give up trying to sleep and go out and fly.  Maybe it would clear his head.

As he pulled on his robes, his thoughts turned to Rositza.  She'd taken the news about the wizarding world better than he could have hoped – though he supposed that she must have been in shock.  Viktor had never told a Muggle about magic before, and should not really have told Rositza, he knew.  But something made him trust her, made him believe that she would not tell anyone else.  

_That is, assuming she even believes me_, he thought bitterly.  His disappointment at her rationalization of what had happened in her kitchen returned.  But really, what had he expected?  That she would reach a full acceptance and understanding of the wizarding world on her own, without being told?  Whatever else she was, she was a Muggle, after all.

He wanted to give her something, to offer some sign of his feelings and how much he still wanted to be with her.  Lacing up his boots, he went over several possibilities.  Candy?  Girls were supposed to like that, but he had a feeling it would not mean much to Rositza.  He supposed he could buy her some sort of jewelry, but he had never seen her wear any jewelry except a small, mirrored pendant that her grandmother had given her.  He supposed that flowers were safe, but that didn't seem right either.

_None of those things will matter to her_, he realized.  He wished he knew where to purchase Muggle art supplies – she had confided to him several times that she had difficulty procuring new notebooks, because her father disapproved of her art.  _That_ would mean something to her.

And then it came to him.  Viktor crossed his room and flung open his trunk.  He rummaged around and found the little box at the bottom, tucked under the set of red Durmstrang robes that had been cleaned after the night of the Third Task, but which he had not been able to bring himself to wear again.  He pulled off the box lid, and the tiny Chinese Fireball roared up at him, a mushroom of fire bursting from its miniscule nostrils.  For a moment, the memories of the last year at Hogwarts overwhelmed him, and then he reached into the box and stroked the smooth scarlet scales, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

_Yes, she will like this._

~**~

The morning was dewy and slightly overcast, the intermittent sun occasionally warming his face.  It was still far too early, he knew, when he headed toward the clearing.  Rositza would most certainly not be there yet, but he wanted to be there when she arrived, to show her that it was all real.  That _he was real._

To his surprise, she was there, hunched over her sketchbook, drawing furiously.  Her hair had been pulled back like the day before, but several strands had fallen out of the band and were hanging down around her face.  Her shoes lay in the dewy grass, as though they had been kicked off.

Viktor walked into the clearing – he didn't know why he had bothered to land near the oaks and walk to their meeting place.  Habit, he supposed.  But it was odd enough not to be hiding his broomstick.  

Not that it mattered; she didn't seem to notice his presence at all.  Her pencil moved in broad strokes across the page.  He couldn't see what she was drawing from where he stood, but he could tell that it must cover the entire page by the way she was moving the pencil.

He cleared his throat.  "Rositza?"

Her pencil froze on the page.  She didn't look up.

Viktor took a step closer, his heart beating nervously.  "Are you…how are you?"

She took a deep, audible breath, her eyes still on her sketchbook.  "You came to Eliza's shop yesterday, yes?  And we had a conversation about – about…"

"Magic," said Viktor, slightly confused.

Rositza breathed out and looked up at him.  She smiled nervously.  "Just making sure I did not imagine it."

Viktor smiled back at her.  This was promising.

Rositza's eyes shifted from Viktor's face to the broomstick he still held in his right hand.  "Is that your magic broom?"

Viktor looked at it too.  "My broomstick," he said.  "A Baranof.  It's a racing broom."

"You fly on it."

Viktor nodded.  

"So whenever you want to go somewhere, you hop on your broomstick.  Like a witch."

"Wizard," he corrected.  "And flying on a broomstick is mostly for pleasure.  And for playing Quidditch."  He met her eyes.  "That is a wizarding sport."

She gave a small laugh.  "No football."

"No."  He leaned his Baranof carefully against a tree.  He could have set it hovering up near the branches, where it would be safer, but somehow that felt like showing off, to do the spell in front of Rositza.

"But when you want to go somewhere, you disappear, yes?"

"Disapparate.  And then Apparate somewhere else."

"Very convenient," she said, in a musing sort of way.  Viktor cringed at the reminder of the disaster with her father, but Rositza's eyes were studying him now with a slightly detached air, as though she really _was cataloging the possible convenience of Apparition.  As though the events of the previous week had already been forgiven._

Rositza straightened up and closed her notebook.  "I brought your shoes," she said, gesturing toward the boots at the base of the rock in the center of the clearing.

"Thank you," said Viktor.  He didn't know what else to say.  He wasn't sure whether he was allowed to go any nearer to her or not.  

Rositza looked down at her closed notebook in her lap.  The silence stretched into an awkwardness that Viktor feared might drown them both.  He had to say something.

He took a step forward.  "I did not expect you to be here, so early."  She looked up at him.  "But I am glad you are here," he rushed to add.

Rositza smiled.  "I could not sleep.  I had too much to think about."

Viktor nodded, unsure how to respond.  Rositza lifted up her sketchbook and laid it in the grass beside her, then lifted something else from her lap.  It took a moment for Viktor to recognize it as the flower he had given her the day before.  It was slightly wilted, and the edges of the blossom were starting to go rock-gray.  

Rositza held it up and examined it.  "Where did you learn to do that?"

He took another hesitant step toward her, but then she gestured impatiently for him to come sit beside her, so he did.  But not too close; he didn't want to push things.

"At school," he said, taking the flower from her.  Her fingers brushed his as he did so, and Viktor tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach and focus on the conversation.

"_Magic school?"_

He nodded, and Rositza laughed softly.  He couldn't see what was so funny.

"I'm sorry," she said.  "It is still very new to me, you see.  If my father knew –"

"Your father _did_ know," Viktor interrupted.  "Some of it, at least."

Rositza's face grew grave, and she nodded.

"How is he?" Viktor asked softly.  

Rositza shrugged.  "He is fine.  He has been more agreeable than I have ever known him to be.  Mother thinks he must be ill."  She smiled and reached over to touch the flower in Viktor's hand.  It was a very intimate sort of touch, and Viktor half-fancied that the petals in his palm had somehow grown connected to his nerve endings; he could feel her fingers as though the touch was meant for him, and not for the flower at all.  

"So that's it?"  Rositza said.  "Now it will be a flower forever and ever?"

Viktor shook his head.  "It doesn't have to be," he said.  He fumbled for his wand, and pointed it at the flower.  "_Finite Incantatum," he said, and the blue blossom morphed back into a stone._

Rositza took the stone thoughtfully and turned it over.  Then she looked up at Viktor with a smile, her face inches from his.  "I liked it better as a flower."

A wave of sudden relief washed over Viktor, and he leaned forward to kiss her without thinking.  Her lips were still warm and soft as ever, but there was a new intensity in the way she kissed him back.

They broke apart a moment later, and Viktor just caught a glimpse of the suddenly shy expression on Rositza's face before she ducked her head and leaned against his shoulder.  He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, and bent his head and breathed in the fresh wind-scent of her hair.

"I have something for you," he said, after a long silence.

She raised her head and looked at him.

"It is not much."  He reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out the little box.  He offered it to her with an awkward motion; she gave him a puzzled look as she lifted the lid, and jumped when the tiny dragon shot a jet of flame in her direction.

"What…what is this?"

"A Chinese Fireball.  Well, a model of one.  But it is enchanted to move.  I thought you would like it."

She reached into the box and lifted the tiny dragon into her palm, and then smiled up at him.  "It is lovely.  Did you make it?"

He shook his head.  "I got it last year at…a tournament.  The competitors had to face the real dragons."

Rositza's smile disappeared; she went completely motionless and stared at him.  She didn't even seem to notice that the dragon figure was now nipping at her fingers.

"Rositza?  What is it?" Viktor asked in alarm.

She took an audible breath.  "What – " she said, apparently with some difficulty, "what are you saying?"

Viktor knit his eyebrows.  "What do you mean?"  He reached over and pried the Fireball figurine from her finger, and set it back inside the box.  

"You said…_real_ dragons?"  Her voice was faint.

"Yes."  

"Oh," she said weakly.  She put her hands to her mouth, and her eyes were large and unseeing.

"Are you sure you are all right?"

Rositza let out a high-pitched laugh.  "Yes."  She removed her hands from her mouth, and Viktor could see that her expression was a happy one.  Deliriously happy.  She picked up the box and reached in a tentative finger to stroke the Fireball's scales.  But a moment later she set it down in her lap again and turned to him.  "So…they are real?  The magic is real, and the dragons are too?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say so before?"

Viktor stared at her, confused.  "I thought you knew."

She gave him an incredulous look, and Viktor suspected he had just shown his ignorance of Muggles again.  "But…_dragons?"_

"Yes."  Viktor wondered if he should tell her about the first task, and the Conjunctivitis Curse he had used on the real Fireball.  But he suspected that she wouldn't take too kindly to hearing about him harming a dragon.  One day he would have to tell her about how dangerous dragons really were.  But not today.  Her eyes were shining now, and she was looking at him as if he had just made every one of her dreams come true.  

"And you said that this was a – "

"Chinese Fireball."

"There are different _kinds_?"

He nodded.  "Welsh Green, Hungarian Horntail, Swedish Short-Snout – that is a blue one.  One of your drawings looks almost exactly like it."

She beamed at him.  "And they are _real,"  she said softly, almost to herself.  Viktor nodded again.  "What about other things?  Unicorns, fairies?  Gnomes?"_

"They are all real too."

Rositza leaned back against the rock in a gesture of excited satisfaction.  She closed her eyes and was silent for a long moment.  Then she burst out, "_Why keep it all secret, though?"_

Viktor looked at her in confusion.

She sat up and addressed him now, her cheeks pink.  He was reminded of Hermione on one of her house-elf tirades.  "I mean, those things are _wonderful.  Why not share them with everyone?  Why keep other people out, just because they are not born with…magic wands?"_

"You have to buy magic wands."

She waved an impatient hand.  "You know what I mean.  Why is it all hidden?"

Truthfully, he could think of no good reason why the magical world should be hidden away from someone like her.  For the first time, it occurred to him that some Muggles truly _deserved to know what lay beyond their perception.  That some of them actually yearned for it, never felt complete without knowing it, and yet never knew what they were missing.  He wondered how many Muggles were like her, deep down.  He didn't know - he'd never known any Muggles closely before her._

"Because," he said, "most Muggles think magic can solve anything.  It can't."  He knew he would have to tell her, eventually, about all of the problems in the wizarding world, problems that no magic could solve.  But he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet.

Rositza looked doubtful at this answer.  "So I am a… Muggle, then."

Viktor looked down and nodded.

"Is that why you didn't want me to meet your parents?"

The question took him by surprise, and his face must have shown his immediate reaction, because Rositza pursed her lips and looked away from him.

"I want them to meet you," he said quietly.  "I have told them about you."  It wasn't a complete lie – he had mentioned her to his mother.  So what if he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with the details?

Rositza met his eyes, her face oddly vulnerable.  "Really?"

"Yes."  He reached out and stroked her hair.  She smiled weakly, but her eyes were still troubled.  "What is it?" he asked.

"There is so much I do not know…about your world."  She didn't look at him as she said this, and Viktor realized with a jolt what lay under her words.  _I don't know if I fit into your world.  She _wanted_ to be a part of it, _wanted _ to be with him…Viktor's heart thumped and he groped for her hand.  Squeezed it.  She looked up at him, her eyes soft, a softness that was for him alone, and the realization made goose bumps rise all along his arms._

He leaned forward and kissed her temple.  "I will show it to you," he murmured into her hair, and she melted against him.

He cleared his throat.  "Next week," he said softly.  "Two of my friends are getting married.  Would you like to come to the wedding with me?"

She looked up at him tentatively, and then smiled.  "I would like that."

He smiled back.  He knew it was a risk, but how bad could it be?  Ivan was harmless, and so was Edina, and the guests would be too busy celebrating  to notice anything odd.

"Only…" He paused.  "You would have to pretend to be a witch.  It might cause trouble, if people knew I told you about the wizarding world."

He expected her to object, but she only paused, looking intrigued.  "Pretend to be magical?  Do you think I could?"

He nodded.  "You are a good liar."

Rositza raised her eyebrows.  "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

Viktor felt himself turn red.  "Yes," he muttered.  "I only meant, with your parents.  You are very good at it."

She smiled.  "I suppose so," she said lightly.  She reached up and touched his cheek.  "And you always show the truth, right on your face."  She ran her fingers over his forehead and down the slope of his many-times-broken nose.  It was odd; he didn't feel self-conscious with her.  He closed his eyes and gave himself over to her feather-light touch.

"Viktor, can I ask you one more thing?"

He opened his eyes.  "Yes, what is it?"

"Will you show me how you fly on your broom?"

He smiled and pulled her into a kiss.  Her arms twined around his neck, and none of the rest of it mattered.  Everything, he knew, would be fine.

~**~

The next week went by far too quickly.  Viktor managed to get to the clearing nearly every day to see Rositza, and she was full of questions about the wizarding world.  He thought now of the way she had never seemed to press for answers when he had first met her, and wondered.  Perhaps she had simply not found him so interesting before.  He wondered if she would have found his company so enjoyable if she had never found out about his wizarding blood.

But this, he knew, was unfair.  She had wanted to be with him even before she had found out.  And now she was getting to know the real him, and it was someone she still seemed to want to know.  There were few enough people, even in the wizarding world, who had bothered.  Viktor knew he should be grateful.

But it still made him uncomfortable, somehow, when she pelted him with questions each morning.  If he commented on it, though, she simply gave him a shy smile and said that she needed to know as much as she could, if she was going to pretend properly at the wedding.  He had already explained to her about dress robes, and she'd said she would come up with something appropriate, though she wouldn't elaborate.

Truthfully, Viktor was more worried about how the wizarding world would look to Rositza than how she would look to the wizarding world.  He had confidence in her ability to dissemble at need – and though this confidence should perhaps have disturbed him, it did not.  He hadn't told her much about Dark wizards, hadn't mentioned You-Know-Who or the Death Eaters…he couldn't bring himself to shatter her picture of the magical world.  Besides, Ivan had told him that the wedding would be a small family affair; surely there would be no need to tell her those things just yet.

One problem that had not occurred to him before hit him when he Apparated outside the gates of Ivan's house for the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding.  How would he get Rositza there?  He could hardly fly her there on his broomstick, much as she had enjoyed hovering above the clearing the past week, and he knew that the Floo Network was less than reliable in this area.  

Fortunately, Ivan answered this worry almost as soon as Viktor was inside the door.  He pulled him aside and shoved something into his hand.  "Before I forget," he said quietly.  "A Portkey for tomorrow.  It will put you down inside the gate.  I would have set it for inside the house, but the wards…"

Viktor looked down at the Portkey and frowned.  It was one of those ridiculous figures of himself that had been sold at the Quidditch World Cup last year.

Ivan laughed.  "What, you don't like it?"  He grinned and lifted his wand, muttering a transfiguration spell.  Immediately the figure grew shorter and its dark hair turned to blonde.  "Much better.  Much more attractive."

Viktor rolled his eyes and shoved the figurine into his pocket.  "There will be two of us coming," he said abruptly.

Ivan's eyes shone.  "You're bringing her?  Rositza?"  Viktor nodded.  Ivan punched him lightly on the shoulder.  "It will be you getting married, next."

Viktor was saved from having to respond by Edina's appearance in the hallway, which, as usual, took all of Ivan's attention.  

But the words came back to his mind the next afternoon, when he met Rositza at the edge of the village to go to the wedding.  She looked…like a witch.  It took him a moment to realize that the blue dress was the same one she had worn the night of the disastrous dinner at her parents' house; she had changed it somehow, lengthened the sleeves and added a drape of floaty material at the back that fell past her wrists.   She looked beautiful.

When she saw him, she smoothed the front of her robes – dress – nervously and twirled around.  "Will it do?" she asked.

He nodded mutely, but when he saw her face fall, he forced himself to speak.  "It is...perfect."

She smiled and took his hand.  "I am looking forward to meeting your friends."

"And I want them to meet you."  He was somewhat shocked to realize that this was the truth.  He _was_ looking forward to this evening.  Viktor took out his pocket watch and checked the time.  "We only have a few minutes," he said.  "We'd better move into the trees."

As they walked, he explained about the Portkey.  He pulled it out and showed it to her once they were hidden in the trees.  

"Who is that?" she asked, running a finger along the small figure's head.

"Ivan," replied Viktor moodily, irrationally jealous as he watched her touch the Portkey gently.  She pulled her hand away.  "No, you've got to have at least a finger on it at exactly four fifty-one," he said.  She looked at him and grinned, and then twined her fingers through his so that only the tips of her fingers touched the figurine; the rest of her hand was curled around his, warm and soft.

He had warned her about what to expect, but she still looked slightly shaken when they landed on the green lawn in front of Ivan's house.  

"Are you all right?"

She nodded.  "Yes.  Yes, I am fine.  Is it always that…abrupt?"

"Usually.  Apparating is better, but – "

"Is this a _house_?"  Rositza was staring up at the stone walls of the house, and Viktor followed her gaze.  It _was_ a nice house, slightly smaller than his own, and a bit ornate for his taste – particularly the golden trim that surrounded the many windows.  

A line of guests was making its way up the path from the gate.  Viktor took Rositza's hand and guided her toward the path, but before he reached it, there was a flash, a cloud of purple smoke and a cry of "Viktor Krum!  Look this way, please, Mr. Krum!" from his right.

A tall, forbidding-looking man in dark robes pushed the photographer back behind the gate, and Viktor quickly pulled Rositza toward the house.  He knew now why Ivan had given him the Portkey to put him inside the gate, and was grateful to his friend for thinking of it.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing," he muttered, feeling his face turn red.  "I told you, I play Quidditch."

"But you didn't tell me you were famous!"

An old woman in front of them turned around and gave them a curious look.  Viktor squeezed Rositza's hand meaningfully.

"Sorry," she mouthed, looking it.  

It was a relief when they got inside the house.  Guests were milling about in the high-ceilinged entryway, and no one paid the slightest bit of attention to them.  Viktor craned his neck, looking for Ivan.

His sister found them first.

"Viktor Krum!" said a deliberately high-pitched voice from behind him, and before he knew what was happening, Ilana Pashnik had pulled him around and pinched his cheeks.  Ivan's sister was fair-haired as Ivan was, but taller, with striking green eyes.  "Look at you, all grown up.  I go away for a few years, and see what happens?"  She grinned, and then her eyes fell on Rositza.  "Oh!  You must be Rositza."

Rositza beamed at Viktor, and he felt slightly guilty as he introduced them.  Ilana took Rositza's arm.  "I will take good care of her, I promise.  Come, Rositza, they're seating everyone now.  Viktor, you had better go see to my brother.  He is probably getting cold feet by now, and you must keep him from Apparating out before the wedding."

Rositza raised her eyebrows at him, her lips twisted into a smile, and Viktor's ears burned as he hurried away toward the door Ilana had indicated.

Viktor had heard that, as best man, he would have to help allay any pre-wedding jitters on Ivan's part.  But Ivan was in his usual high spirits when Viktor found him in the small anteroom off the hall, talking to some of the guests.  His eyes shone, and he looked more adult than Viktor had ever seen him in his robes of black and gold.  He practically ran to the front of the large ballroom when it was time for the ceremony to start; it was clear that he could not wait to marry Edina.

The ceremony itself was brief.  Edina was beautiful in long robes of sparkling white, with matching strands of white beads braided into her hair.  When she and Ivan exchanged their vows, Viktor saw both of their mothers, and even Edina's father and a few of her brothers, wiping their eyes.  Viktor had to admit that he was moved as well.  Anyone could see how Ivan felt about Edina, of course, but Viktor had had never heard him voice it so openly, with so much honest intensity.  Viktor found himself sniffling slightly; he felt eyes on him, and raised his head to see Rositza looking straight at him, her eyes shining.

When the ceremony was over, and Ivan and Edina had been presented as husband and wife, to much cheering, Ivan's father stood and officially welcomed everyone to his home.  He was a tall, fair-haired man; Ilana had clearly gotten her height from him, while Ivan was built more like their sandy-haired mother.  Mr. Pashnik asked the guests – about seventy or so in all – to stand at the sides of the room.  Once they were all cleared out of the center, he raised his wand and the rows of chairs transformed into round tables, adorned with crystal dishes and silver clothes.  Viktor watched Rositza as this happened; her eyes grew wide, and she looked at him.  He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

There was no head table as at other weddings he had attended; Ivan had told him that he and Edina had decided that was much too formal for their taste.  But there was a dance floor at the front of the room, and as the guests moved to find seats, the band mounted the platform in the corner and began to play.  Ivan and Edina, who hadn't let go of each other's hands since the ceremony had ended, moved toward a table at the center, and Ivan nodded for Viktor to join them.  Ilana and Rositza came over as well, followed by a burly man in dark blue robes.  "Viktor, I don't think you have met my date, Daniel," said Ilana, as they sat down.  "He never says much, but, well, you know."  She flashed a conspiratorial grin at Rositza.  

Rositza shot Viktor an amused look and he squeezed her hand under the table.

"So this must be Rositza," came Ivan's voice from behind him.  Viktor introduce Rositza to Ivan and Edina, and Ivan actually disengaged his hand from Edina's long enough to come around the table and kiss Rositza's hand gallantly.

"Don't worry, Edina," said Ilana loudly as Ivan slid back into his seat, "you have nothing to worry about.  If Viktor didn't kill him, I would."  She smiled sweetly at her brother, who responded with a rude gesture.

Edina cleared her throat.  "Let's eat, shall we?"

Viktor realized that he had forgotten to tell Rositza how the food worked – there were so many things he took for granted – and leaned over and muttered instructions into her ear.  She nodded, and a moment later had smoothly placed her order with her plate, as though she had been doing it all her life.  

If he had worried about his friends asking Rositza too many questions, he needn't have.  Ivan and Edina were so wrapped up in each other that they barely paid attention to anyone else, and Rositza had already learned to deflect any of Ilana's questions by asking about her work with the apothecary.  Ivan's parents were drinking merrily at the next table, and the other guests were talking and laughing loudly, many of them grouped around a long bar that had appeared at the other end of the room.  By the time he and Rositza had finished eating, Edina's uncle and Ivan's cousin were engaged in a drinking contest at the table by the window, the Hungarian drinking Palinka and the Russian drinking vodka.

The band, Kelpies in the Well, was not bad; after the meal they played several slow songs, and Viktor was glad for the chance to put his arms around Rositza and shut the rest of the world out.  She sighed and rested her head against his chest contentedly.

"How am I doing?" she murmured.

He kissed the top of her head.  "Amazing," he said.  "Much better than I did, with your family."

She raised her head and grinned at him.  "You are not a good liar, like me," she said.

He looked into her eyes, and allowed himself to fully believe, for the first time, that it all might work out.  She _was amazing.  He wanted to kiss her, but not in front of all those people, so he contented himself with pulling her close again._

The next song was a fast one, and Rositza wanted to stay out on the dance floor.  Viktor sat down at the table again and watched her.  Ilana danced up next to her, and the two of them laughed at they tried to work out coordinated dance moves.  He was surprised that Rositza seemed to get along so well with Ivan's sister.  But then, Ilana could charm just about anyone, and Rositza was…

"She's a pretty one, Viktor," said Ivan, dropping into a chair next to him.  Edina was with him, but she remained standing and twined her arms around Ivan's neck.

"She seems really nice," said Edina with a smile.  "I am glad that you decided to bring her."  She and Ivan exchanged a look, and Viktor thought he could guess what they were really thinking.  _Thank goodness he gave up on Hermione._  

Viktor was struck suddenly by how long it had been since he had had more than a passing thought about Hermione Granger.  He smiled to himself.  Yes, he supposed he had come a long way.

Rositza and Ilana came over to the table then, laughing and out of breath.  "I need something to drink," said Rositza.  "Do any of you want anything?"

"I'll come with you," said Ilana, and the two of them began to push their way through the crowd toward the bar.

Viktor watched Rositza's dark curls disappear into the crowd.

Ivan gave a low whistle behind him.  "Edina, dear, we've lost him.  He's gone."

Viktor turned to see Ivan and Edina watching him with identical knowing grins on their faces.  He supposed they were right.  But he didn't care, and for once he was not even embarrassed by it.

Edina settled into a chair on Ivan's other side and put her feet up in his lap.  "So how did you two meet, Viktor?"

"She lives near me," said Viktor.  "I met her one day while I was out flying."

"What are the odds, eh?" said Ivan with a grin.  "Means it was meant to be."

Viktor hesitated.  He had told Rositza that he would at least tell his friends the truth, and he wanted to, but it was still awkward.  "Actually," he said, "she lives in the Muggle village, on the other side of the mountain."

Ivan looked puzzled.  "The one you showed me?  So…she is Muggle-born?"  He and Edina shared a concerned look.

Viktor took a deep breath.  "No," he said.

Ivan still looked confused, but Edina sat up, her face registering a horrified comprehension that took Viktor by surprise.  He never would have expected her to share in that kind of bigotry.  "She's a Muggle," Edina said softly.  "Isn't she?"

Viktor nodded.

Ivan's eye grew wide.  "Viktor, why didn't you tell me?"

Edina leaned forward over the table, and her voice was soft and urgent.  "Viktor, you have to get her out of here.  _Now."   _

Viktor stared at her.  It was not disgust in her tone, as he had expected, but concern.  Panic.

"What?"

"You heard her," said Ivan weakly.  Viktor looked at him; his face had taken on a slightly grey tone.  "Viktor, my father…"  

Edina reached over and squeezed Ivan's arm.  "Viktor, find her _now," she said.  "Take her home.  Before – "_

She didn't finish her sentence, but it didn't matter, because Viktor had already bolted out of his seat and started pushing his way toward the bar.  He looked around frantically for a head of dark curls, and didn't see it anywhere.  He stood by the bar, at a loss, surrounded by the talk and laughter of drunk and happy people.

And then a low voice reached his ears.  "_Impedimenta!_"  Loud, course laughter followed the voice – it was coming from just outside the room.

A sick feeling in his stomach, Viktor ran through the doorway.  In the hallway outside, a group of middle-aged wizards was gathered in a loose circle, and a figure stood rigid in the center.

A dark-haired figure in a blue dress. 


	9. Sorrow and Shame

Author's Note:  Thanks, as always, go to Jedi Boadicea and Zsenya for their encouragement, knowledge, and attentive betareading.

Chapter Nine: Sorrow and Shame

Mr. Pashnik was pacing slowly in front of Rositza, his wand held loosely in his fingers, and Viktor could see her frightened eyes following his movements.  He remembered when he himself had used the Impediment Curse on her in the clearing, just before he had put that Memory Charm on her, and felt as though he might throw up.

What had he done?  _Why had he brought her here?  _

"Let me give you a piece of advice," Mr. Pashnik said to Rositza, his voice full of greasy charm; he might have been advising a colleague on removing a Bundimun from under the floorboards.  "When one is in a wizarding house, trying to pass as a witch, ordering Muggle soft drinks at the bar is to be avoided."  The men around him laughed loudly, a harsh sound – they'd all had far too much to drink.

A hot surge of anger filled Viktor's chest, and he reached for his wand.  At that moment, however, Ivan and Edina came up behind him.  Ivan muttered something harsh, but Edina pushed past him and hissed at Viktor, "Be ready."

"_There you are," Edina said in a loud, sweet voice to Mr. Pashnik.  "I have been looking everywhere for you.  You must dance with me.  Ivan is going to dance with my mother now.  Come, come."  She grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the room, flashing Viktor an urgent look._

Ivan had his wand out and was quietly casting Memory Charms on the other wizards nearby.

"_Finite incantatum," Viktor said softly, and he saw Rositza sag and nearly fall.  He grabbed her arm and turned to Ivan.  "We need to get out of here," he said urgently._

Ivan nodded, his face still pale.  "Downstairs, in the kitchen.  The fireplace.  Viktor, if I had known…."  

"It was not your fault."

Ivan still looked stricken, but he nodded.  He glanced at the group of wizards, who were looking around, bewildered.  "I will take care of them.  _Go_."

Viktor nodded once more, and then hurried Rositza down the hallway.  She didn't make a sound.  He glanced at her face once, and wished he hadn't.  She looked dazed, but her eyes were watery, as though she wanted to cry but was too shocked to do so.

Viktor didn't let himself think about the expression on her face, or the way Mr. Pashnik had looked at her, or what might have happened if – no, he couldn't think about it.  It was enough to hurry her down the stairs without making her trip on her long dress, enough to find the long kitchen on the lower level and steady her with one arm while he lit the fire and threw in the Floo powder with the other.

It wasn't safe to double up when traveling by Floo powder, but he had no choice.  And he had to transfer through three different connections before he found a pub that connected to the Bulgarian Floo Network.  But through it all Rositza was absolutely silent – frighteningly silent – and he clutched her close so that she wouldn't get hurt.  He _wouldn't let that happen._

It was perhaps three-quarters of an hour later by the time they reached the Krums' kitchen.  Viktor stumbled as he stepped out of the fireplace, but he caught himself and lowered Rositza into a chair at the table.  She closed her eyes; her face was pale and covered with soot.

"Your dress," Viktor croaked.  It too was covered in soot, and the long piece of floaty material at the back had been ripped, probably while in the Floo Network.  He reached up and tried to brush some of the soot off her sleeve, but she only opened her eyes and stared at his hand on her arm.

"Rositza," he said, touching her cheek.  "I am so sorry.  I did not know that – "

And then she looked up and met his eyes, and words failed him.  There was…betrayal in her face, and she looked at him as though he was one of _them_.

"Viktor, are you back so early?"  His mother was at the door.  She checked on the threshold at stared at him, at Rositza, at their soot-stained clothing.

Viktor stood up.  "Mother."

His mother took a single step into the room.  "What is going on?"

"We came back early.  There was…trouble."  Viktor glanced at Rositza as he said this, but she turned her head away from him.  "Mother, this is Rositza."

His mother glanced at Rositza, and her eyes grew wider.  She took two long strides forward and grabbed Viktor's sleeve, pulling him across the kitchen.  "You took a _Muggle-born into that place?  What is wrong with you?" she hissed._

Viktor stared at her as the pieces fell into place.  "You knew," he said.  "You knew about Ivan's father.  Why didn't you tell me?"

His mother raised her head indignantly.  "Well, you did not tell me you were planning to take her, did you?"

Viktor was fed up with secrets.  There were many things he wanted to say to his mother just then, but he glanced over at Rositza and saw that she had now buried her face in her hands.  He had to get her home.

He turned on his mother.  "Get me some of your Dreamless Sleep Potion," he barked.

She looked offended.  "I do not have – "

"Mother."  He gave her a long, hard look.  No one in his family talked openly about the way his mother had disregarded reality lately, but he knew that she took the potion almost every night.

She pursed her lips and met his gaze for a long moment, then looked away.  She turned and marched silently out of the kitchen.

Viktor went back to Rositza.  He took her hands and pulled them away from her face; her cheeks were tear-streaked now, but she wasn't sobbing as he would have expected.  Instead, there was a hard anger in her eyes, and her jaw was set.  "Take me home," she said, so softly that he almost didn't hear it.

"I will, in a moment.  My mother is getting something that will help you sleep."  He reached up and pushed her hair back from her face, and tried not to let it show how much it hurt when she flinched at his touch.

His mother came back a moment later and thumped a small purple bottle down on the table.  "There is not much left, but it should be enough for her tonight," she said, her voice subdued.  

"Thank you," replied Viktor curtly.  "Now stay with her a moment, please, while I get my broomstick."

He ran up to get the Baranof, and then with some difficulty got Rositza to her feet and led her outside.  She had been on his broomstick before, but never so high or so far, or in her current state.  But he managed to get her over the crest of the mountain and fairly close to the village on the other side.  It was a dark, starless night, or he never would have dared to go so close, right up to the stand of trees where they had Portkeyed out only a few hours before.  

Viktor left his broomstick there and they walked through the village to her house.  Rositza hadn't said a word since they had left his house, and she wouldn't look at him.  Viktor wanted to say something, but he knew that nothing he said would be enough.  He should have warned her.  He shouldn't have taken her to that place at all.

He should have known better.

The village was darker than he had expected it be; it seemed forbidding, unwelcoming to him now.  But once they reached the road, Rositza began to walk more quickly, and Viktor hurried to keep up with her.  She'd seemed confused, back at his house, and he hadn't been entirely certain that she had comprehended the instructions he had given her as they had been mounting his broomstick, but now, as she got closer to her own house, her shoulders were straightening and her head was high.

She stopped at the gate outside her house and began to swipe at her clothing, causing soot to rise in clouds.  Viktor fumbled for his wand and lit it, so that she could see better.  She paused when he uttered the spell, her face turned away from him, but then she went on tidying her dress.  "Thank you," she murmured, but there was something icy in her tone, and Viktor was afraid to respond.

She stood up straight at last and shook out her curls, running her fingers through them. The wandlight fell on her face and Viktor was surprised to see that, though the soot and tearstains remained, her eyes were dry, her expression composed.  She noticed him looking, and rubbed at her face self-consciously.

"I could…"  Viktor waved his wand slightly.

Rositza looked at his wand warily, and then up at his face.  It hurt him to see how guarded her eyes were.  But a moment later she glanced at the house and frowned.

"Go ahead," she said, her voice low and toneless.

He swept his wand over her.  Rositza closed her eyes.  "_Purgare," he said, and the soot vanished.  _

Viktor reached behind her and held out the fabric of her dress that had been ripped.  "I can fix this too, if you want."

Her eyes were still closed, her face tense, but she nodded.  He performed the spell quickly and stepped back, and Rositza relaxed slightly as he moved away from her.

A heavy weight settled itself into Viktor's stomach.  He didn't know how to fix this; it was so much worse than Disapparating from her kitchen.  _But it could have been far, far worse, said a nasty, persistent voice in the back of his head._  She was only frightened. She could have been really hurt or -_  _

The thought was far from comforting.

"I am going to go inside now," said Rositza in a surprisingly clear, measured voice.

Viktor's heart dropped, but he nodded.  He pulled the potion bottle out of his pocket and held it out to her.  It seemed a feeble offering.

Rositza looked at the bottle, and then at him, and seemed to come to a decision.  "My room is there, at the corner of the house," she said, pointing to one of the windows on the second floor.  "When you see the light come on, wait five minutes and then," she hesitated for a split second, "Apparate in."

Viktor stared at her, but she had already turned away and starting walking briskly up the path to the front door.  She squared her shoulders before pushing the door open, and did not look back at him.  

There were lights on downstairs, and he could see people moving inside.  Viktor extinguished his wand and crept closer, and he could hear low voices coming from inside the house – Rositza and her mother, and a deeper voice that had to be her father's - but he couldn't make out what they were saying.  And then, incredibly, he heard Rositza laugh, the sound as clear and untroubled as if the night's events had never happened.

Viktor was so startled by this that he almost didn't notice when the light came on in Rositza's bedroom a few minutes later.  He waited, heart thumping – surely it had been at least five minutes?  He wasn't sure; time had seemed to lose all meaning ever since he had bolted from his seat to find Rositza in the crowd.  He forced himself to wait longer, and then, finally, stood up straight and pulled out his wand.

He wasn't exactly sure what he expected to find when he Apparated into Rositza's bedroom, but it wasn't heaps of clothing strewn across the floor, or haphazard stacks of books in the corners.  He felt himself flush with embarrassment as he saw a few girls' underthings on the floor in front of him, but he froze when he saw Rositza.

She was sitting up straight on the bed, still wearing her blue dress, and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.  She didn't move; she didn't even seem to have noticed him appear in front of her.  

Viktor's heart plummeted.  She looked as if she was too angry for words, as if she was about to tell him off.  But why had she told him to come up here, if that was the case?

Viktor looked around nervously; he had never been in a girl's bedroom before, let alone one belonging to a Muggle.  He opened his mouth to apologize to her again, as if that would help, but before he could say anything, a low sound from Rositza made him whip his head around.

She was sobbing.  Her shoulders shook, and her breath was coming in huge shuddering gasps.  

Viktor stared at her, completely taken aback.  She had just been laughing – he had heard her – and now tears were coursing down her face and dripping onto the soft blue fabric of her dress.  She seemed to grow smaller; her shoulders stooped, as if she wanted to curl into a ball.  Viktor took a tentative step toward the bed, wondering if he was allowed to touch her, wondering if she just wanted him to leave.

But she let out another sob, and Viktor's heart twisted.  He moved to sit beside her, patting her back awkwardly.  She looked up at him, eyes swimming, and covered her mouth with one hand, clearly trying to stay quiet.

At least he could help with that.  Viktor lifted his wand and pointed it at the door, muttering a Silencing Charm.  "It is all right," he said softly.  "They can't hear you now."

Rositza's chest hitched, and she began to sob again, this time leaning into Viktor's chest.  He put his arms around her, whispering into her hair, though he was sure she couldn't hear him over her own ragged breathing.   He had never seen her so small, so helpless; he realized with a jolt that he had come to see her as smart and capable, even if she _was_ a Muggle.  It unsettled him now to see her unhinged like this.  To see her needing someone else so much.

To see her needing _him._

Her sobs began to trail off, and her breathing grew more even.  At last she raised her head and looked at him.

"I am so, so sorry," he whispered.  "I should have told you.  I should never have let you go there."

She closed her eyes, an expression of pain flitting over her face, and shook her head.  "Don't," she said weakly.  She sat up and pulled away from him, wiping at her tear-stained face with her hands.  Her face was streaked with soot again, where she had leaned against his robes.

"Your face," he said, raising his wand.  "Do you want me to – "

She shook her head.  "I am so tired.  I just want to sleep."  She reached down into a pile of garments on the floor and pulled out a yellow nightgown.  She looked up at Viktor shyly.  "I need you to turn around," she said, her voice still shaky.

Viktor leapt up from the bed and stood facing the wall.  He heard the bed shift behind him, heard a swish of fabric, and then – 

"All right," said Rositza, and her voice sounded miles away.  He turned around to find her already in bed with the patterned quilt pulled up over her.  Her eyes were red, but her face was pale under the streaks of soot.

Viktor pulled the potion bottle out of his pocket and went to the side of the bed.  "This will help you sleep," he said.  "It won't hurt you."

She gave him a painful smile as he pulled the stopper off the bottle – he wished he had a goblet, but he could hardly go traipsing around her parents' house to find one.  He paused on the point of handing the bottle to her.

"I could…if you want," he said, unable to meet her eyes, "I could…make you forget it.  It might be easier."

She met his eyes, and shook her head wearily.  "You said yourself that you can't fix everything through magic.  And you promised you wouldn't do that to me again."

He nodded.  He had suspected she would say that, but it tore him up that he could take away her anguish in five seconds, and yet he was not allowed to.

Rositza drank the contents of the bottle in one gulp, and her hand was already going limp as she handed the empty bottle back to Viktor.  "Stay here a little while, until I fall asleep," she said, almost in a whisper.  "Please?"

Viktor swallowed hard as tears of guilt pricked the corners of his eyes.  Of course he would stay, as long as she wanted him to.

He put the empty bottle on her bedside table, and as he did so something burned his hand.  He shook it out and looked down, and found the model of the Chinese Fireball curled up at the base of the lamp, staring up at him with what he imagined was an expression of satisfaction in its protuberant eyes.

Viktor lifted his wand and savagely shot a Freezing Charm at the figurine, feeling ridiculously content when its movement was arrested, its ugly face frozen in an expression of surprise.  _That was what he should have done to those wizards tonight.  _

No, something worse.  Something much worse.

For the first time, he allowed a tendril of the shame he had been suppressing all evening come to the surface.  He should have _done something_, should have attacked them all, if that was what it took, but instead he had just stood there frozen, until Edina had spurred him into action.  What could have happened to Rositza, in those few moments he had hesitated?  What _had_ they said to her, before he found her, to leave her like this?

Rositza turned over and made a low, sleepy sound, drawing Viktor's thoughts out of himself.  It didn't matter what had happened; he had to take care of her _now_.  He sat on the edge of the bed and took Rositza's hand.  It was cold, but he held it in his until it began to feel warm, and stayed and watched over her until the tense lines in her forehead smoothed away and her breathing took on the deep, even sounds of dreamless sleep.

~**~

When Viktor got back home, his mother was sitting in the kitchen in her dressing gown.  He wasn't surprised; he had expected this, and had purposely taken his time retrieving his broomstick and flying home, to give himself time to think about what he would say to her.

But he hadn't expected to find her pale and stony-faced, clutching a mug of tea.  And he wasn't prepared for the coldness in her voice when she spoke.

"You got her home, then?"

"Yes," replied Viktor quietly.  He leaned his broomstick against the wall and slumped into a chair; it was not yet midnight, but he felt tired and drained all of a sudden.  "Father is not home yet?"

"No.  He had to…work late."  She looked away as she said this, and Viktor's blood ran cold.  He had forgotten, in the midst of this evening's chaos, that there was more out there, more horrible things in the world than the ones that affected his life.  

And he knew of at least one group of middle-aged, drunken men who would be frustrated tonight, having been denied their bit of Muggle-torture.  Who would they attack now?  Who would catch their eyes next, now that he had snatched Rositza out of their midst?  Not for the first time that evening, Viktor thought he might throw up.

And he felt only slightly guilty that he didn't _care_ who it was – as long as they stayed away from Rositza.

"You did a very stupid thing tonight, Viktor," said his mother in a low, tense voice.  It had been a long time since he had heard that tone from her; in recent weeks, her forced cheerfulness had overtaken it.

But hearing it only made him angry.  "_Me?" he said abruptly.  "You could have told me.  You could have __warned me."_

His mother whipped her head around to face him, eyes blazing.  "You _know_ what's going on out there.  You should know better."

This was too much for Viktor.  "So you are acknowledging it now, are you?" he said harshly.  He had never spoken to his mother this way, except perhaps the day after the third task, when she had wanted him to leave Hogwarts early.

"This has nothing to do with me," his mother snapped.  "You _know_ how dangerous it is to consort with Muggle-borns, and yet there you are, going to balls with them, flaunting it so that even your own mother has to read about it in the magazines!  Is wizarding blood not exotic enough for you, or is it just the danger that makes it attractive?"  Her nostrils flared angrily.

Viktor stared at her.  He had not yet told her what Rositza really was, and knew, with a sick feeling in his heart, that now he probably never would.  He pushed himself up out of his chair and turned to leave the kitchen without a word.

"Viktor," said his mother, her voice softer now.  "I just want you to be safe.  You must be careful who you – "  She broke off.

_Be careful about whom you trust.  _Professor Dumbledore's words rang in his head again, and Viktor almost laughed.  How often would he hear that?

Viktor turned around.  "Mother, these things are out there.  It happens whether we are careful or not.  And if it happens to be a…Muggle-born that I – "  He broke off, unsure of how to finish that sentence.  He took a deep breath and started again.  "I told you, You-Know-Who is back.  Pretending it is different won't change things."

He met his mother's eyes, and saw her face crumple.  She turned her head and her shoulders hitched once, violently.

"Mother?" 

"I know it," she said quietly.  "Of course I know it.  Only a fool could fail to see it, but it is not – "  She took a deep breath and turned and faced him, her eyes surprisingly cold and clear.  "You never asked," she went on, in a carefully measured voice, "how I knew that Ivan's father is…what he is."

He hadn't, he realized.  It hadn't even occurred to him to ask this.  Viktor shifted slightly, apprehension rising in his throat.

"Fedor Pashnik was four years ahead of me in school, in the same class as my cousin Tereza."  She put a slight emphasis on Tereza's name, and she glanced up at Viktor.  "I did not know him well, but Tereza did, and she often talked about his charm and wit.  Ivan is very much like him, in that regard."  She smiled faintly.

Viktor's stomach clenched.  His mother always avoided talking about Tereza, and Viktor knew only that she had died, violently, during You-Know-Who's last reign of terror.  "Did he kill her?" he forced himself to ask.

His mother raised her head, and the expression in her eyes was unbearably sad.  "No," she said softly.  "An Auror did that."

Viktor stared at her uncomprehendingly for a long moment, and then it sank in.

"But he recruited her.  Brainwashed her, I thought then.  She couldn't stop talking about the 'noble deeds" she was taking part in, couldn't wait to show off the place on her arm where – "  She looked down at her hands, which were clenched together so tightly on the table that her knuckles were white.  "I thought then that she had totally changed, but now I wonder if it was not there inside her all along."

Viktor remained silent.  He had no idea how to respond.

His mother took a deep breath and looked up at him.  "Your friend Ivan is smart.  He and Edina are planning to move far away from his parents' home.  I thought it was odd when Edina first told me that, but when I learned who his father was…they are staying away from trouble.  As you should, Viktor."

He didn't answer.  He wished that it was that simple.

His mother sighed and stood up.  "I want you to be happy, Viktor.  But I would rather you be safe."  She crossed to him and stroked his hair, as she had done when he'd been a child.  "I do not think you can have both, not now."  She stepped back and drew her bathrobe more tightly around her.  "Get some sleep, Viktor.  We will not tell your father about all this.  He has…enough on his mind."

It didn't matter if they told him or not, Viktor reflected as his mother kissed him goodnight and left the kitchen.  He was likely to find out anyway, especially if there had been more attacks tonight.

Viktor leaned his elbows on the table, pressing his forehead against his hands, understanding for the first time just how powerless he was to stop the things that had been set in motion around him.


	10. The Rest of the Time That You're Given

Chapter Ten: The Rest of the Time That You're Given

Viktor's mother shook him awake early the next morning.  "Ivan is in the fire for you," she said tonelessly.

Viktor's first reaction was to wonder why Ivan would bother him so early in the morning, and why his mother was already up, but the next moment he remembered the previous evening and it all clicked into place.  He pushed himself out of bed and threw on a set of work robes.

He felt awful.  His head was pounding, and the faint shafts of light shining in through the windows were like lances through his eyeballs.  He wondered exactly how little sleep he had gotten - he'd spent half the night tossing and turning, with too many thoughts ricocheting around his brain, and could not remember when he had finally drifted off.

He followed his mother down the stairs.  "Why are you awake so early?" he asked her.

She gave him a fleeting glance over her shoulder.  "I did not sleep well."

_Of course_, he realized.  Aside from everything else, she'd been taking the Dreamless Sleep Potion for weeks now, and he had given what she had left of it to Rositza.

His mother paused by the kitchen doorway.  "Your father is upstairs sleeping.  I don't know what time he came home, but it must have been very late."  She gave Viktor a meaningful look, and his stomach lurched guiltily.  He stepped past her into the kitchen.

Ivan's head was there in the fire, and when he saw Viktor, he gave a half-hearted grin.  There were dark circles under his eyes.  "How is she?" he said, his voice disturbingly serious.

Viktor glanced at the doorway, ready to glare at his mother to make her leave, but she was already gone.  This surprised him; he'd expected her to try to eavesdrop.

"Viktor?"

"She is fine," he said, turning back to Ivan.  "She was…upset."

Ivan nodded.  "Of course."  He looked down.  "I am sorry I didn't tell you…about my father."  His voice was so quiet that it was almost drowned out by the crackle of the flames around him.

Viktor didn't respond; he didn't know what to say.

"Ilana feels terrible," Ivan went on. "She said she only left Rositza for a few minutes, to go to the bathroom, and that she should have realized she was a Muggle because no witch has ever been that interested in her apothecary work before." He let out a short, dry laugh, but his eyes were still somber.  "What were you _thinking _though, Viktor?"

Viktor raised his head angrily, his mother's harsh words of the night before running through his head.  He was _not _going to have this argument with Ivan as well.

Then he saw the expression on Ivan's face - there was confusion in it, and if not outright disgust, something not altogether approving.  But there was also concern, and a certain look of hurt, of disappointment at being left out, that he had come to recognize.

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

Ivan shook his head slowly.  "You could have told me, you know.  And Edina."

"And you could have told me, about - "  Viktor fell silent.

Ivan sighed heavily, and it suddenly hit Viktor how unfair it all was.  Ivan and Edina had been so happy last night, and now their wedding was ruined.  All because he'd been too stupid to think about the consequences of what he was doing.  "How is Edina?" he asked quickly.  "What happened after - "  He trailed off again, but it didn't matter, because Ivan was already answering.

"She is fine.  She is still asleep now."  He gazed fondly off to his left.  "You should have seen her last night, Viktor.  She was amazing.  She just kept talking to him, laughing and joking about it all, telling him he'd had too much vodka and he didn't know what he was doing.  And he took it, from her.  Said he was drunk, and didn't remember anything."  He snorted derisively.  "He knew exactly what he was doing."  There was powerful disgust in Ivan's voice, and Viktor was grateful that he had every reason to respect his own father.  He'd never realized how much that meant, until now.

"What about the others?"

"I got them all.  They won't remember anything.  And my father won't say anything.  Too embarrassed, though probably more by his failure of a son than by anything he did."  The bitterness in Ivan's voice was almost palpable; Viktor had never heard him like this before, and it seemed wrong somehow.

"Ivan, I am sorry."

"Don't be.  It was not your fault."

"But your wedding - I should never have…"

Ivan shook his head.  "Ilana warned me he would mess it up somehow.  Though I have to say, at least her preoccupation with her own guilt has kept her from saying 'I told you so'."  He smiled weakly, his eyes begging Viktor to help him make a joke of it all, as if that was the only way he could deal with it.

Viktor forced his lips into a smile.

"We will be going back to Edina's parents' house this afternoon, and we will probably stay there for awhile, if you need to reach us."

Viktor stared at him.  "What about Paris?"  He and Edina had been planning their honeymoon trip for weeks.

Ivan looked uncomfortable.  "Well, we thought that with…everything going on, we shouldn't…"

"Go to Paris," said Viktor, and he was surprised at how commanding his own voice sounded.  He would not let them change their plans because of his mistakes.  And besides, with everything that was happening in the world at the moment, it might be the last time they had some peaceful time together.

Ivan hesitated.

"You have to go," said Viktor.  "There is nothing you can do here.  Don't disappoint Edina."

"I suppose," Ivan said slowly.  "But if there is anything we can do…if you need us, send an owl."

Viktor nodded.

Ivan paused a moment, then went on.  "You know that…we are planning to move, when we get back?  Somewhere in Hungary." _Somewhere away from my father_, said his expression.

"I know."

Ivan nodded slowly, then seemed to hesitate.  "I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you that seeing Rositza is a bad idea?"

Something hardened in Viktor's chest.  "No," he said.

Ivan grinned.  "I didn't think so.  I know how you are."  Viktor wondered what he meant by that.  But Ivan's face grew serious.  "Well, then, take care of her."  His gaze drifted off to his left again.

Viktor swallowed hard.  "I will," he said.  "Have a good time in Paris.  Give my best to Edina.  And congratulations."

"Thanks."  Ivan smiled, the bags under his eyes not obscuring the expression of delight on his face.  It made Viktor feel all the more guilty that what was clearly the best day of Ivan's life had been ruined.

They said their goodbyes, and Ivan's head disappeared with a _pop_.  

Viktor hurried to get cleaned up.  It was still early; if the potion had done its job, Rositza would still be sleeping.  But he had an odd need to be there when she woke up.  He knew she'd have a lot of questions, once she was coherent.  He wasn't sure how he would answer any of them, but he knew without question that it would be important for him to try.

He Apparated into the midst of the trees on the edge of the village and walked the rest of the way to her house.  Though the sun was still low over the horizon, there were a surprising number of Muggles awake.  Viktor hurried on, self-conscious in his Muggle clothes - he really had to get more, if he was going to be coming here so often.  Rositza's parents would surely notice if he wore the same thing every time they saw him.  

Viktor paused at the gate, looking up at Rositza's bedroom window.  He'd Apparated into her room last night out of necessity - and because she had asked him to - but by daylight it seemed…intrusive.  Inappropriate.

He briefly toyed with the idea of knocking on the door.  That was what a normal Muggle boyfriend would do.  Viktor had a sudden, fierce, surprising wish that he could be just that for her.  But talking to her parents felt risky; he couldn't help remembering the last time he had been alone with her father, and he knew he could not afford another disaster.  There had been too many already.  And besides, were Muggles even accustomed to people knocking on their doors this early in the morning? Viktor had no idea.

But he couldn't Apparate directly into her room either, for reasons other than his own discomfort.  What if someone besides Rositza was in there?  He couldn't take that chance.

Viktor hung back by the gate indecisively for a moment, and then went quietly through it and crept around the house to the kitchen window.  He carefully edged behind a bush by the window and peered in.

Rositza's father was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper, and her mother was pouring a cup of tea.  This was all Viktor dared to take in before he ducked down to avoid being seen.  A moment later, Rositza's father's voice drifted through the open window.

"Did you see this, Nora?  More fires outside Shadrinsk.  They're saying it might be arson."

"How awful."  There was a sound of something being stirred, and then the _smack_ of a cup being set down on the table.  "There you go, dear.  I wonder if I should bother to make breakfast for Rositza?  I haven't heard a peep from her room all morning, and usually she is up and out of the house by now."

She was usually in the clearing with him, Viktor realized.  It made him a bit nervous that her mother had noticed this.  

"She was a bit overexcited when she came in last night.  Perhaps she had trouble settling down," said Rositza's father's voice, following by the sound of a newspaper page being turned.  "Let her sleep."

"I suppose," said her mother, and Viktor could hear the smile in her voice.  "It sounds like she had quite a big night."

"She should invite that boy back for dinner next week, so we can get a proper look at him.  I barely saw him before he ran out last time."  There was something like suspicion in his voice, but Viktor recognized it as nothing more than a father's protective instinct for his daughter.  There was none of the dangerous malice it had held before the Memory Charm.  Viktor breathed a quiet sigh of relief; her father really didn't remember a thing.

"You scared him off, dear.  I don't blame her for wanting to meet him in the village instead of bringing him here."

"I told you, I didn't mean to.  I don't remember _what_ happened.  Maybe it is all to do with blood sugar, as the doctor said."

"That reminds me, have you taken your pills this morning, dear?"

Viktor didn't need to hear any more.  He looked around quickly, but there were trees surrounding the back of the house, and he was hidden from view.  He pulled out his wand and Apparated into Rositza's bedroom.

At first he thought she was asleep, but as he edged around the bed, she started and sat up abruptly. "Isn't there some way you could warn someone before you do that?" she asked.

"I am sorry," he said.  "I thought you would still be asleep."

She rubbed at her forehead.  "I still feel hazy."  She looked up at him.  "Whatever you gave me worked well."

"Dreamless Sleep Potion," he said quietly.

Rositza nodded.  She drew her knees up under the covers and hugged them to her chest.  

"Are you…all right?"

She shot him a quick, confused look.  "I…I guess so."  She paused.  "Viktor, what was that?  What happened?"

Viktor let out a breath, then realized he was still holding his wand.  Self-consciously, he pocketed it and perched on the edge of the bed farthest away from her.  "I told you that most Muggles don't know about the wizarding world," he began, not looking at her.  "Most wizards don't know much about Muggles either. But there are some who think that Muggles are not…"

"Worth anything," she finished for him in a flat, wooden voice.  He looked up at her quickly.  She was staring past him, her jaw a firm, angry line.  Her face was still dirty where she had leaned against his robes the night before, and that combined with her expression made her appear extremely grim.

"Yes."

"So what do they do?  What would they have done to me, last night?"  Her voice shook with either anger or fear; he couldn't tell which.

He swallowed hard.  He couldn't bring himself to tell her the full extent of it, the truth about the terror that ran unspoken through every wizarding household.  "They…hurt them."

"With spells?  Magic?"

"Sometimes."

She took a deep, shuddering breath.  "And?"

"Sometimes they kill them," he mumbled.  He had not admitted this openly, even to himself, not even after the third task and Dumbledore's words at the leaving feast.

Rositza stared at him in horror.  "How could you not tell me this?  How could you let me go there without telling me this?"

"I didn't know," he said anxiously.  "I didn't know about Ivan's father being one of them, I swear to you I didn't."

Something in Rositza's expression relented a little, but she didn't say anything, and Viktor rushed to fill in the silence.  "Ivan and Edina, they are moving away.  They are not like that, I promise you.  Ivan is my best friend."  It felt odd to say that aloud, but Viktor knew it was true.  "_He_ is not like that."

Rositza's expression hardened again.  "And _he_ knew about this?"

Viktor hesitated.  "Yes, but…"  He looked down.  "He didn't know about you being…"

"A Muggle."  Rositza's voice was cold.  "You are ashamed of me."

Viktor looked up quickly and scooted closer to her.  "No!  That is not it at all."  He blew out a breath of frustration.  "I told them, last night.  That was why I came to find you."

A bitter expression crossed Rositza's face.  "Just in time," she said, and then, without warning, her face crumpled.

"What did they say to you," Viktor asked shakily, "before I got there?"

Rositza hugged her knees closer and turned her head away from him, eyes tightly shut, tears beginning to leak out of the corners.  She shook her head.

Viktor's heart dropped into his stomach.

"Rositza," he said softly, and reached across the bed to push her hair behind her ear.  "I promise you I will never let them hurt you.  Tell me how to make this up to you."

She turned back to him so fiercely that the movement knocked his hand away.  A few tears had escaped her composure and were streaming down her cheeks, but her eyes were hard and bright.  "Never lie to me again."

Viktor leaned back slightly.  "I did not lie to you."

Rositza let out a sarcastic laugh, clearly thinking about the time before she'd known he was a wizard.  "Then never leave things out.  Don't keep things from me, especially important ones.  I need to be a part of things - I need to know what's going on with you.  I can't be in the dark like that, not when I am - "  She bit back whatever she had been going to say and turned away from him again.

Viktor's heart leapt.  She still wanted to be with him, even now.  She still wanted to be a part of his world.

But then, she still didn't realize exactly how dangerous that was.

"Are you sure?" he croaked.  "It isn't safe."

She turned back to him, an incredulous expression on her face, and then pulled him to her and kissed him, almost angrily, and her kiss left no doubt.

She was sure.

~**~

Viktor wished the happiness he felt that day could be a pure one, unmixed with any other emotion.  Rositza, impossibly, still wanted to be his, still _was_ his, and yet…he knew it would not be easy.  It could never be easy, for them.  He couldn't even take her to meet his parents, not the real her, not as she was.  Oh, no doubt she would be willing to put on an act for his sake…but too many people already knew the truth.  He couldn't hope to hide it from his parents for long.  His mother's harsh words kept running through his mind - he hoped they were just the product of worry and anger, but he had a sinking suspicion that he had at last seen her true feelings.  He could not imagine how his father would react.  He didn't want to know.

Such were his thoughts during Quidditch practice that day, as he half-heartedly soared above the others, glancing around for the Snitch.  It made him angry that he had to be here, when he could be with Rositza - _should_ be with Rositza, taking care of her.  He _would not_ let anything happen to her.  Every time he thought of the drunken leers on the faces of Ivan's father and his friends, he wished he was a Beater instead of a Seeker, so he would have an excuse to hit things hard with a club.

And mostly, he was angry at himself, that he couldn't be purely happy when he thought of Rositza.  She had once been his safe haven, away from all this, and now he had mixed her up in it.  There were too any other emotions connected to her now, too many worries.

"Mind on your press again, boy?" roared Boyer behind him, and Viktor whirled around to see him knocking a Bludger in his direction.  Viktor dropped a few feet to avoid it, but it grazed his ear with a painful stinging sensation.

"Don't listen to him, Viktor," said Kiril, swooping past him with the Quaffle.  "If I'd had a girl like that with me last night, I wouldn't be thinking straight today either."  He lifted his eyebrows suggestively and dropped the Quaffle to Susannah, who was waiting for it a few feet below.  Susannah's eyes swept over Kiril and narrowed as they lingered on Viktor briefly, before she sped off to the other end of the pitch and placed the Quaffle through the hoop in one swift, decisive motion.

Viktor's stomach clenched.  That damn photographer.  He should have _known_ this would happen.  

If Viktor had been off before that, it was nothing to how he fared for the rest of the practice.  Ligachev beat him to the Snitch three times out of ten, prompting Boyar to send several more Bludgers his way.  Viktor managed to duck most of these, but the last hit him in the jaw, causing a large lump.  Boyar called the practice in disgust after that.

"None of you sorry excuses for Quidditch players are to show your faces on my pitch again until you're ready to play some real Quidditch," Boyar screamed, jumping from his broomstick before it even reached the ground.  He swung it up over his shoulder in an angry motion.  "Zograf, I hope you're suitably ashamed that our worst reserve Chaser got four goals past you.  Don't let it go to your head, Zhivko.  And Tsvetanov, what were you doing chattering away up there when Ivanova was wide open?  And you - " He rounded on Viktor, pointing his Beater's club accusingly.  "No more dating for you, boy.  Not until you've learned to keep your mind on that Snitch where it belongs."

Viktor's face burned, but he clutched his broomstick tightly and tried to ignore the laughter of the other players.

"You think it's funny, do you?" snarled Boyar, brandishing his club around at all of them.  Irina Prandzheva took a few timid steps backwards.  "You think it's funny to lose?  Get out of my sight, all of you.  I don't know who you people are, but I want to see the _real_ Vratsa Vultures on this pitch first thing tomorrow."  With that, he turned his back on them and stormed off toward the changing rooms.

Kiril muttered something to Irina that made her laugh softly, and the rest of the players began to disperse.  Viktor strode over to the edge of the pitch and picked up his bag; he was hot and tired and cranky, and he should probably shower before leaving, but he wanted to get home.  He was anxious to see Rositza.  He had been before, but since Kiril's comment...

Viktor was halfway to the Apparition point outside the pitch when Susannah caught up with him.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked lightly.  Her voice was breathless, as though she had run to catch him.

He looked quickly at her.  "I want to get home," he said shortly.

"I see."  She paused, then began again, in a too-casual voice that immediately set him on guard.  "Saw you in the paper this morning.  Did your friend's wedding go well?"

"It went fine," Viktor replied, more sharply than he'd meant to.

"It must have been lovely," Susannah continued.  "The Pashniks are quite rich, aren't they?  What is their house like?"

Viktor wiped his hand nervously on his robes.  What was she talking about?

And then it hit him: she _knew_ about Ivan's father.  Was she trying to use him to meet a prominent Death Eater?  Was that her game?

_Whether you like it or not, you have a certain influence._

Viktor felt as if he might be sick.  He breathed deeply and forced himself to stay calm.  "It is nice, I suppose," he replied evenly.  He chanced a glance at Susannah's face.  She appeared...frustrated.

"Well," she said, with a forced laugh, pulling a newspaper from her pocket, "I am glad you and your date had such a good time.  Is she...any relation to the Pashniks?"

Viktor stopped walking and stared at her.  He would have laughed at the absurdity of this question, if there had been any room in his mind for laughter today.

"Let me see that," he practically snarled, grabbing the paper from her hand.  It was open to the society page.  Ivan and Edina smiled happily out of a small photo at the top of the page; the entire bottom half of the page was taken up by a large photo captioned "Celebrated Seeker Viktor Krum and His Mystery  Date".  Viktor was pleased to see that his photographic self was refusing to look in the direction of the camera.  Rositza, however, kept peering over his shoulder, and the photo-Viktor kept urging her to turn around.

"Sounds like it was quite a party," said Susannah, in what he guessed was supposed to be an offhand tone, but her gaze was fixed upon him now.  "Did you stay all night?"

"We left early," Viktor replied absently, scanning through the article about the wedding.  He held his breath as he read it, but it was nothing but a gushing account of the flowers, and a lengthy description of Edina's dress.  He breathed a sigh of relief.

When he looked up again, Susannah was still eyeing him speculatively.  Something inside him snapped; he was tired of games, tired of dancing around subjects.  "What are you asking me these questions?"

Susannah's dark eyes flickered.  She reached out and took the newspaper, and very deliberately turned it to the front page, where a photo showed a glittering Dark Mark above what appeared to be a crater in the ground.  Bits of blasted brick and other debris littered the ground at the edges of the crater.

"Shadrinsk.  Last night," said Susannah, her tone clipped.  "I believe the wedding was not far from there?"

Viktor stared at the picture, his blood going cold.  Had they done all this?

Susannah cleared her throat expectantly.  Viktor folded up the newspaper and shoved it back at her, and continued walking.  "I told you, I went home early."

"So you said," Susannah replied coolly.  "What about your friend Ivan?  Was he doing a bit of celebrating?"

Viktor turned on her angrily.  He was sick of the pretense, sick of pretending things weren't as bad as they were.  Sick of pushing away suspicion when it involved people he respected.  Sick of _having_ to.  "Ivan had nothing to do with that.  And what are you asking me questions for?  Don't you know all about it anyway?"

Susannah stopped and stared at him.  "What?"

Viktor half-wished he hadn't said anything, but it was too late now.  And besides, he couldn't walk away from this anymore; it had become too personal.  Last night had ensured that.

"You know what's going on.  You know that You-Know-Who is back.  Don't pretend to be ignorant.  You're one of them, aren't you?"

Susannah's mouth was open now, but no words were coming out.  Finally she took a deep breath and said, in a low, controlled voice, "One of _who_, exactly?"

Viktor took a step backwards.  "Death Eaters," he said tersely.  He glanced back along the path.  It had occurred to him that he was not exactly in the wisest position, alone in a thickly wooded area with a tall, athletic witch whom he had just accused of being a Death Eater.  He wondered how quickly he could get to his wand; he knew he could draw quickly at need, but Susannah had gone to Durmstrang too, and would no doubt be a match for him.

Susannah breathed in sharply and stared at him.  "But don't you...I mean, wouldn't you know if..."  She trailed off, and then raised her head and narrowed her eyes at him.  "Which side are you on, exactly, Viktor?"

Viktor regarded her suspiciously.  Was she trying to trick him into revealing something?

Susannah watched him in silence for a moment, and then, incredibly, began to laugh.  She sank down onto a log at the side of the path.  "I am not a Death Eater," she said.  She looked up at him.  "And neither are you, are you?" she asked quietly.

"Of course not!"

Susannah laughed again, more quietly this time.  "Ah, do you see what they do?  It goes so far beyond what you see on the front page."

Viktor was still trying to understand.  "So you thought that I was a..."

Susannah shrugged apologetically.  "You can't be too careful, these days.  And it's not exactly easy to tell what you're thinking, Viktor."

"But why were you asking me all those questions when I got back, then?  About - " He swallowed hard. " - the Triwizard Tournament?"

Susannah gave him a serious look.  "You were there, weren't you?  At Hogwarts.  Not much has come out, not enough.  But we knew enough to go on.  And if the rumors weren't enough, the attacks have been, enough to know what's happening.  For those who are willing to see it."

Viktor's heart beat faster, remembering Dumbledore's words: _The more people who believe it, the more who will be willing to fight it._

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Viktor asked quietly.

Susannah raised her head quickly and gave him a long, appraising look.  Finally she nodded slightly, as if she had come to a decision.  She glanced down the path in both directions.  "The Circle," she said, and a note of pride rang through her words, though she kept her voice low.  "You have heard of it?"

He had.  Overwhelmed by Dark wizard attacks fifteen years ago, the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic had given its two top Aurors permission to draft and train volunteers.  The members of the Circle had fought on the front lines of the battle against Dark wizards, freeing up the highly trained Aurors for more covert missions.  Few of its members had survived, though all were honored in memory.  It was not unusual even today to see a thin silver circle hanging in the window of a wizarding home, indicating that a member of the family had fallen in its service.

Viktor nodded.  Susannah fumbled with the front of her robes, and then pulled out something shiny and held it up.  It was a pendant, a silver circle, exactly like the ones that hung in those windows in all but size.

"My grandmother," said Susannah.  "She was one hundred and thirty-three years old when they got her, but she went out fighting."  Her jaw clenched.  "I intend to do the same." She tucked the pendant back into her robes and looked up at him.  "The Circle didn't disband all those years ago, Viktor.  It never did.  None of them were so stupid as to think they wouldn't be needed, that all danger was past."

Viktor stared at her.  "Does the Ministry know?"

Susannah laughed.  "They didn't, until recently."  She shook her head.  "But they are fools.  Even Svetkova, and her mother helped begin the Circle.  But they don't want civilians getting involved.  They insist that they can handle it."  She snorted and indicated the newspaper in her lap.  "You can see how well they are handling it.  But they are not as bad here as in Britain.  We've been trying to make contact there, but the British Ministry won't even acknowledge the attacks.  Idiotic fools."

Viktor raised his head.  "No, the British Ministry won't help you," he said.  "But I know who will."

~**~

_Dear Professor Dumbledore –_

Viktor paused, his quill suspended over the parchment.  It occurred to him that writing this letter would be something irrevocable; once he sent it, he would be a part of this war – and, after a lengthy conversation with Susannah, he knew now that it _was _a war.  There was so much that he had failed to see, so much that he had willfully ignored, trying to keep his own sense of safety intact.  He had told Dumbledore that he would help any way he could, but what had he done all summer?  He'd hidden away in his mountains, too wrapped up in his own business to do anything about the insanity in the world around him.  The things Susannah had told him had come as a shock – not just the news about the Circle, but also the hints she dropped that some in the Ministry had covered up for prominent citizens in the magical community, had kept news of their involvement in current Death Eater activities from the press, even from the Aurors.

He wondered how much his father knew about it.

No, he couldn't sit on the sidelines forever; he was already involved, whether he wanted to be or not.  All he could do now was choose how he would play out his part.  He dipped his quill into the ink bottle and began to write again.

_I hope all is well with you.  I have discovered more information regarding the topic we discussed when I saw you last.  There is a circle of people here who wish to help.  We await your advice.  Tell us what we have to do._

_Viktor Krum_

Viktor held up the letter and read it over to himself.  He hoped it was suitably vague – Dumbledore had warned him to be especially discreet.  But he had no doubt that Dumbledore would understand the reference to the Circle immediately.  He would know what to do next.

He folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope, addressed it quickly and then went to the window and called to Branimir.  His owl had been enjoying a few owl treats on the window ledge, but straightened up immediately and stuck out his leg when Viktor held up the letter.  "Go quickly," Viktor muttered, "and be careful."

Branimir blinked his large yellow eyes in what Viktor imagined to be an expression of disdain, then took off into the sky.  Viktor watched as he dipped and wheeled, then caught an updraft and rose steadily higher.  Just as he disappeared above the trees, a second, smaller owl streaked up and joined him.  Viktor blinked, startled, and then remembered that his mother had been expecting a delivery – no doubt more of the Dreamless Sleep Potion.  He frowned.

_She will deal with this her way, and you will deal with it yours,_ he told himself.  It was done now; the letter was sent, and he had declared his affiliation, for better or for worse.  It came as a surprising relief.

It still made him nervous, however.  He wanted to be _doing_ something.  He was tired of waiting.  He'd been doing it too long.  _Help us, Dumbledore,_ he thought.  _Tell us what we need to do.  Tell _me_ what I need to do._

But he already knew the first thing.

~**~

The golden rays of the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees in front of Rositza's house, bathing the brown shutters and the vegetable patches in a warm, wholesome light.  Viktor hesitated momentarily at the gate, and then marched up to the front door and knocked.

Rositza's mother answered the door, and she smiled broadly when she saw Viktor.  "Viktor, how lovely to see you again."

"Hello," said Viktor nervously.  "Is Rositza here?"

"No, she went to see Eliza.  A friend of hers stopped by a little while ago and they walked up there together, I believe."

Viktor frowned.  He had somehow expected her still to be in her bed, upset and unhappy.  Needing him.  "I'll just…go there, then."

Rositza's mother put out a hand, and he paused on the point of turning away.  "Viktor," she said, "I just wanted to…apologize, for my husband's behavior at dinner that night.  He hasn't been feeling well – the doctor says it has to do with his blood sugar.  He doesn't even remember what happened that night.  I hope you won't hold it against him."

Viktor swallowed hard.  "Of course not."  He shoved his hands into the pocket of his Muggle jacket.  "And I am sorry that I…ran out so quickly.  I was startled."

She smiled.  "Understandably so.  I understand that you and Rositza had a wonderful time last night."  She tilted her head to the side and paused.  "Rositza cares about you very much.  I can tell."

Viktor's face burned.  "I care about her as well," he muttered.

"I can tell that too."  She cleared her throat.  "We would love it if you would come to dinner again.  My husband will behave this time, and perhaps even Manuella will as well."  She smiled.  "Next Friday, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," replied Viktor, averting his eyes.  "I will have to check...with my mother."

Viktor was grateful to escape to the road.  He hurried along it to the pottery shop, wondering what had possessed Rositza to go out.  She needed her rest.

She was poring over a broken pot in the back of the shop when he found her, after being greeted with a smile and a knowing look by Eliza.  He had to touch her shoulder to get her attention, and when she saw him, she jumped slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said with a laugh.  "I was trying to fix this for Eliza."  She frowned, holding up a broken piece of a dragon wing.  "I am not sure it can be repaired."

Viktor glanced at the pot.  He could have fixed it easily – it was a simple spell – but he didn't say anything.

Rositza laid the broken pieces on the table and looked up at him.  "What is it?"  she said in a low voice.

"What?"

"You look worried.  Has something else happened?"

He thought about how to respond to this.  He wondered if there was any way he could convey to her the enormity of what was happening in his world.  "Let's go outside," he said abruptly.

"All right," she said slowly, her eyes never leaving his face.  She stood up and called to Eliza.  "We're going outside for a bit.  I'll finish this pot when I get back, all right?"

Eliza nodded and smiled, and then winked at Viktor when Rositza's back was turned.  He gave her a weak smile in return and followed Rositza out the door and down the rickety steps.

"Let's go back here," said Rositza, leading the way to the back of the shop, where a small sheltered nook held a stone bench.  A large statue of a young girl stood not far from the bench, the front of her dress serving as a birdfeeder.  A pair of thrushes flew away from it as he and Rositza sat down.

"What is it?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm.

Viktor shook his head.  "It is…it has just been a long day.  I wanted to see you."  He paused.  "How are you?"

She removed her hand from his arm.  "I am fine," she said, but she didn't quite meet his eyes.

Viktor very much doubted she was telling the truth.  

"I have something for you," she said quietly.  She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a folded piece of paper.  She handed it to him.  "I just finished it today," she said shyly.

Viktor unfolded the paper curiously.  He froze when he saw the drawing – it was one of Rositza, the one he had told her to make for him ages ago.  She was wearing the dress she had worn to the wedding, and her face was turned toward the front of the picture.  He kept expecting the drawing to move, but it stayed in the same position, staring up at him.  He recognized the expression in the eyes; it was one he had often seen from Rositza, before last night.  But only now did he realize exactly what was in it.

_Trust.___

"Do you like it?" Rositza asked, her voice low and uncertain.

"It is…beautiful," he croaked, and looked up at her.  Her face broke into a nervous smile, and he instinctively pulled her to him and kissed her.  She kissed him back with surprising force, and Viktor wished he could stay in that kiss forever, could forget everything else and stay connected to Rositza like this.

But nothing had changed.  And the sooner he got this over with, the better it would be.  For both of them.

He pulled back and looked at the picture again.  "Thank you," he said softly.  "It is beautiful."  He folded it up and put it in his pocket, then finally looked up and met her eyes.  "I need to tell you something."

Rositza leaned back a little, something wary in her expression.  "What is it?"

He swallowed hard.  "I…we can't see each other anymore."

"What?"

"It is too dangerous."  He spoke this to his lap; the look on her face was too much for him to bear.

Rositza let out a sarcastic laugh.  "So you _are_ ashamed of me."

He looked up quickly.  "Of course I am not," he said angrily.  "It is too dangerous for _you.  _We were lucky last night.  Do you think it would always be that way?"  He pulled out the newspaper that Susannah had given him and brandished the front page at her.  "Look at that."

She took the paper warily and her eyes grew large as she scanned the front page.  "Shadrinsk?  That was where the fires were, last night."

"Not fires," said Viktor grimly.  "And the other 'fires", this summer – none of them were, either."

A crease appeared in the middle of her forehead as she bent over the paper again.  "What is that?" she asked in a subdued voice.

"The Dark Mark," replied Viktor, knowing his voice was harsher than it should have been.  "The mark of…Dark wizards.  Of Death Eaters.  You see?  They like to show off what they have done.  They are _proud_ of it."

"Death…Eaters?"  Rositza said faintly.  "Those men, last night, is that what…"

Viktor nodded.

Rositza looked down at the newspaper again.

"Those attacks in Shadrinsk last night were no coincidence," Viktor said softly.  "They would have done that to you, if they had had the chance."

Rositza looked up at him, her eyes over-bright, her breathing heavy, but she didn't reply.

"I can't…"  Viktor took a deep breath.  "I can't stand the thought of them hurting you," he said softly.  "It isn't safe right now, not for anyone."

"Not even for you?"

He shook his head.  "I only want you to be – "

She sat up straighter.  "So, if we don't see each other anymore, it will be safer for you too?"

He blinked.  "I…suppose so.  But that is not why – "

"I know," she said quickly.  "But it's the only reason I'll agree to this."    She didn't cry, but the look on her face was worse than tears.

Something inside Viktor broke, and he reached for her hand.  He was surprised to find his own hand shaking, and was suddenly unsure; it didn't seem right to be without her.

"I promised I wouldn't let them hurt you.  I can't let that happen,"  he managed to say, partially to explain to her, and partially to convince himself that what he was doing was the right thing.  It sounded feeble to his own ears, but he knew it was true.

Rositza scooted closer to him and burrowed into the hollow of his shoulder.  They stayed that way for a long moment, and then Rositza spoke, close to his ear.  "Just don't…make me forget this - " Her voice cracked.  "Let me remember…I won't tell anyone.  Let me keep that much of you."

She looked up at him imploringly, and he couldn't breathe.  He nodded.

"Promise me you won't."

He tightened his arms around her.  "I promise."

She smiled painfully, and a few tears spilled down her cheeks.  "Does it have to be now?"

He kissed the top of her head, dread coursing through him.  "Every minute I stay, I am putting you in danger."

She nodded, sniffling slightly, and then reached up and twined her fingers through his hair.  Viktor abandoned himself to her kiss; it was tender and lingering, as if she was trying to memorize him.  As he was trying to fix her in his memory – the soft pressure of her lips, the feather-light touch of her fingers along his neck, the way her hair tickled his cheek.  

Rositza paused and took a ragged breath, her forehead pressed against his.  

"I am sorry," he said softly.

She closed her eyes, a pained expression flitting over her features.  "I know."

She sat back and let go of him, and he felt cold without her touch.  

"You'd better go then," Rositza said quietly.  She looked up at him.  "I…"  She paused, looking like she wanted to tell him something very important, and then stood up abruptly.  "I am going to go inside now."  She bent and kissed his forehead.  "Goodbye, Viktor," she whispered.

Viktor's throat was too tight to respond.  He looked up at her, hoping she would understand what he wanted to say from his expression.

Rositza wiped her eyes and gave him one more long look, then turned and headed back toward the shop, straightening her shoulders.  

No, she wouldn't look back; he knew enough about her by now to know that this was her way.  

And that would help him now.

He drew out his wand and pointed it at her retreating back.  "_Oblivate_," he said quietly.

Her stride faltered as the spell hit her.  She started to turn around, but before she could face him, Viktor Disapparated.

~**~

The likeness in the drawing was remarkable; it was exactly the way Viktor wanted to remember her, with that look of belief in her eyes.  He didn't know how long he had been sitting on his bed staring at it, only that, at some point the sun had set and the sky had turned to starless black.  

And he didn't remember when the tears had started, only that they had come on silently, had sneaked up on him, just like his feelings for her.  She wouldn't forget him entirely - he had been careful about that – but she would remember everything that was real about him.  She would forget about the magic.  That would make it easier for both of them, wouldn't it?

He smoothed the paper for the hundredth time, and traced the outline of a delicate curl with a shaking finger.

"I am sorry, Rositza," he whispered.  "It was the only way."

The End

**************************

What, you were expecting a happy ending?  Not yet, my friends.  Viktor and Rositza have a lot more tough times ahead, I am afraid.

As some astute readers have noted, Arabella and Zsenya allude to  Viktor and Rositza's eventual marriage in _After the End_.  So, see, there's your happy ending.  We're just not there yet.

Assuming that my ideas about Viktor don't get totally blasted away by Book 5 (and assuming I have the energy to write it), expect to see more angst-filled adventures of the Moody Slavic Man later this year.  (I swear, if Viktor turns out to be a Death Eater in canon, I may have to go into therapy!)

Thank you to all my betareaders, particularly Jedi Boadicea and Zsenya, without whom this story never would have been written, and certainly would never have been finished.

For those of you who might have been wondering, most of my rather pretentious chapter titles are taken from the song "Why Walk When You Can Fly?" by Mary-Chapin Carpenter, which I consider to be Viktor's theme song.  You can find the complete lyrics at the end of Chapter 10 of _Moody Slavic Man_, if you are interested: 

Next-to-lastly, many thanks to all of you who reviewed this story!  I am terrible about responding to reviews, so I am going to do some responses here:

To Newbia and Mr. Roberts III:

If you think Rositza is a Mary Sue, you clearly haven't met me!  But I would ask you to remember that this story is from Viktor's point of view, and he is madly in love with the girl, so he's not exactly focusing on her flaws at this point.  She does her fair share of stupid things, believe me!  (And you will, if I ever write part 3…)

To Three Sickles Short:

First, I want to thank you for your constant, detailed, thoughtful reviews.  They always make me smile!  And I loved your chapter title idea—"The Perils of Keeping it from Them for Their Own Good".   Ain't it the truth!  But if people told the truth in the beginning, stories wouldn't be half as exciting, right? J

Pauline:

Oh, it is SO much worse than marrying an Episcopalian!

LewisD:

I want to thank you especially for your review of Chapter 7.  You summed up exactly what I was trying to do with Viktor's character throughout this whole series, and I am so glad it's coming across!

Joanna:

The "shapeless jacket" is just that—not a special kind of jacket or anything, just Viktor's impression of a Muggle dinner jacket.  And by the way, thank you for your funny reviews—I especially enjoyed the "hugging the computer" one of "What Will Come". 

Katinka and Talking Purple Rabbits:

Thank you both for your regular reviews – you are both people who "get it", I can tell. :)

And to Dr. Aicha, Cat, shellebelle, Sreya, Anne, Meg, Areilla, Jade Sabre, Zisk, Catherine, and anyone else who has been reviewing regularly:  Thank you!  It means a lot to me to know that people are reading this story.  I know that Viktor's not the easiest character to get into, and I thank you all for giving him a chance!  I just hope it turns out I don't have him too far off from the way he'll be in canon. 

And lastly, to anyone who is depressed by the ending of this story, and to whom the promise of an eventual continuation is not enough, I will give you one hint:  Remember, Rositza is a good liar. :D


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